At times it seems that my grip on reality is tenuous at best, that the anchors which usually weigh me somewhat securely to my place in the space-time continuum are cast hopelessly adrift. My friends, my family, my city, my apartment, my bedroom, my clothes, my hands, my feet, my entire body...I feel so utterly disconnected from all of them. I exist only as pure consciousness and am forced to see everything around me as it truly is: ephemeral, temporary, utterly fragile. In ten thousand years everything I've ever loved or hated will have been utterly annihilated by the hideous, meticulous passage of time. I'm not sure if this is what inspired

my new poem.