There are two worlds that I know of.
The first can be seen, and felt, and heard.
The other spins inside the eyes that pry it.

What becomes of fantasies
That break the paradigm
And live in its schism?

Words as solid objects
take the shape of moving air
if intention could be felt through skin
what protection would one wear?

Thoughts are heavy objects
to speak them is relief
but the burden collects like leaden dust
around the listener’s feet.

The mind creates these objects
it thinks but cannot speak
and as these objects fill its space
they become the speaker, me.