is isolation -
one author, one premise;
the illusion of being alone
in a room filled with people
and, further,
that these people are real
and the room is not
OR
the room is real
and not the people.
At some point,
a hundred or so pages deep,
I cannot be found,
not by doorbells,
telephones, pagers, or bookmarks.
Falling asleep on the worn couch of my fancy -
that’s not so bad.
It’s rather comfy.
Some even
consider it noble.
The trouble comes
when I pretend
no one else has ever done it.
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