POEM #9
I’m at home sitting on my couch, cars driving by outside the window, and at a certain time of cloudless day when the sun is at the exact right altitude and angle, for about 15 minutes, it casts a dance of light and shadow on my walls. Plato had this theory that the world we see isn’t real and we are all just shadows. I can believe it, my walls looking like bloodshed made of glimmer. When I say we are not real, I’m not suggesting we’re fake. See: Dakota Johnson’s Architectural Digest interview circa 2020.
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