Cogito

Every last one of my thoughts
Is begged, borrowed or stolen 
Somewhere in memory
They are freeze-dried or frozen 

I want to chip at the edifice
Want to recognize what's real
Is it some second-hand artifact
Or a thing I can call real?

Every last one of my friends
Is there because I put them 
In some sub-cavernous lair 
Like a pre-ancestral cushion 

I want to loose my tethers 
Get back to a primal state 
Take some peyote and howl in the wind
At the village doctor's gate 

Is there a demon in the sky
A malevolent presence in the cosmos 
Willing it all in a masquerade 
And playing off my base illusions? 
No wonder we live
No wonder we live 
In a state of unbridled confusion

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