The confines of a cookie cutter is the extent of knowledge
There is dough on the outside, yet I don’t know it. I Can’t be sure.
I eye the smell of daily sweet bread,
and nose the warmth, I lick the edges;
It tongues of bitter dark chocolate chunks.
I hear the static nothing coming
from beyond yonder edge, I sniff..
All things in the static-yonder-land where
eye-nose-ear-skin-tongue cannot venture–
or collect sensation
I Live there, yet reside here.