Bricolage
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I’m a solipsist on a silly quest
to question the grounds on which we met
You’re in my mind, and I in yours
voracious ontological omnivores.

My subtle sands are mixed and mingled
amidst Pringle cans and deadly shingles
Myriad selves as shelves abound,
collecting dust and losing ground
All are real and all are fake,
each purpose built as a garden rake

But what slips amidst my careful tines?
Just time and rhymes and forgotten lines.