These Things That Are Not Mine

Open air, cold on my face,
I'm awake but spinning,
around around around around
I know things:
this ground underneath me
is not moving
what my brain is telling me
is wrong,
try living with that knowledge
when all you know is what your brain
tells you
how far can you shake
your faith and still have it?

What is it that you live by
when everything's gone?

I tell people I trust my brain,
my reason,
but the reality is that
I'm happiest when I jam the
signals from my brain
over all frequencies
long wave, short wave, microwave,
and let the angels take me