Stream of Unconsciousness

It's the myths that hurt now,
The absolute and concrete belief,
In the small world that never was,

It’s been a million years,
Since we could count ourselves,
In thousands and know our own minds,

Without the need for averages,
And other calculations,
Designed to box us in,

Like the flow of time reversed,
Perhaps the universe reflects our images,
And not the glassy opposite,

From Lascaux to the elusive fresco,
We have been ever-more defined,
In each new and shining method,

Pixels these days match our retinas,
And frequencies conform to cilia,
We have achieved reality.