I am surrounded … am I? The wrapping of reality, A cloth of text shushing songs of eternity Keeps reminding me I am. This wind of story brushes my skin And paints me in its color, A forest of interwoven hues. Around me, around, is meaning, Utopian interpretations of the world, But none of this makes sense to me. Am I part of the text? Or am I apart of it? None of this makes sense to me. … I guess that's settled, then.