Slam Poem: What Do I Know?

I know nothing, of me or the world.
I know, and only know, that
I know not a thing, not a whit
How do I know that in this chair I now sit?

Can I prove, am I real?
We can guess, support, conclude
But your green could be my red
And my rock is, in your eyes, a bed.

Maybe the sky isn’t blue
The clouds are not white
And we think we are limited by visible light.
We think, and we do.
They tell tales to justify
But for all we know they aren’t even alive.
I know nothing, you know nothing
Why are we here? Our world may just be somebody sleeping.

Maybe we all don’t even hear the same
Maybe her ears hear it an octave higher or two
Take it from dogs, from orcas, from bats
Vivid and undetectable are synonyms now.

Are we big or are we small?
We see specks, but yet that’s us
And specks are specks to more specks
And leaping from one well we find ourselves in another.

I have a cloth in front of my face
Too far for me to reach
Too far to for my arms to pull away
I know that it’s there
And that’s all I know, that
I know nothing, of me or the world.

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