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I watched the Poet Laureate on T.V. the other nightTo Steve Mitchell's previous piece     SpacesuckTo Steve Mitchell's next piece

I talked with my matrix the other day
To see what my essence had to say
With a separate voice inside my head
"Meanings and fame and money and dread
And ALL the things the others have said
Mean nothing to me because I know  I am dead
Even as I stand here before you."
I cringed as I heard what myself said to me
In throes of that dark-bleak epiphany
Knowing that I would never be  free
From that man in my head who knows better than me
That existence is illusion/uncertainty
Made real by the shadow of doom