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we awoke one morning to find

we had become unreliable narrators of our own lives

our homes once familiar to us 

became ghost palaces 

fruit ate itself

doors opened then closed in empty rooms

curtains brushed across guitar strings on windless days

flowers blushed

our lives were gaslighting us 

still we arose

bathed dressed ate

sunlight greeted us

guided us to work

screens needed viewing

communication remained electronic


but the foundation had changed 

was changing

were we entering a new dark age?

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