The Solipsist

Don't be misled:

that sea-song you hear

when the shell's at your ear?

It's all in your head.

That primordial tide—

the slurp and salt-slosh

of the brain's briny wash—

is on the inside.

Truth be told, the whole place,

everything that the eye

can take in, to the sky

and beyond into space,

lives inside of your skull.

When you set your sad head

down on Procrustes' bed,

you lay down the whole

universe. You recline

on the pillow: the cosmos

grows dim. The soft ghost

in the squishy machine,

which the world is, retires.

Someday it will expire.

Then all will go silent

and dark. For the moment,

however, the black-

ness is just temporary.

The planet you carry

will shortly swing back

from the far nether regions.

And life will continue—

but only within you.

Which raises a question

that comes up again and again,

as to why

God would make ear and eye

to face outward, not in?