–a solitary thinker walks through the wreckage of civilization, grasping for certainty amid the detritus of failed systems, lost gods, and broken truths.
I think, therefore, I wander.
Past rebar ribs and cracked mosaics,
the bones of certainty
lie scattered under ash.
A library burned with its spine intact.
Smoke still curling like a question mark.
I tried to read the flames,
but even fire lies.
The statues have all been beheaded.
They stared too long at the sky.
I ask them nothing.
They answer the same.
I found a mirror,
webbed with dust and history.
My face,
not mine, not not mine.
Truth is a bootprint in mud.
It vanishes when you chase it.
Still, I press on.
Descartes with dirt under his fingernails.
“I am” is enough for today.