Will anyone who witnessed the collision between man and the environment by Ed Stone

I am not a silent poet

I have the uncanny feeling I am being watched
by myself.  I move self-consciously,  clumsily.
There is no getting away from my hidden eyes.
For the past week I have been running
a peculiar fever , a low fever.  It makes my
feet cold despite the heat wave that engulfs
the city.  My tongue has a soapy flavor.
Any liquid except hot milk tastes brackish
and leaves me parched.  It is often impossible
for me to concentrate.  My thoughts become like
empty eggs floating in my head.  They collide
with crinkling noises.  I sleep dreamlessly,
never certain that I am asleep.  Sometimes
I am awakened by the sound of my own whispering
It grieves me that I cannot understand the words.

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