I am the fiction and she that fakes it
I am the mistake and she that makes it
I am the pen and the hand that takes it
Across the empty page to who knows where.

I hide myself from those who cannot feel
The fruit that shows itself within the seed
The root that feeds the branches of the tree
You reassure yourself is over there.

The problem is not the problem you see
The joke is not the joke you tell to me
You are not what you think yourself to be
Because what you think is not everywhere.

Less the thing you say, more the thing you mean
Less the stuff you see, more the space between.