by Greth Barredo

We tend to create
A copy of the world
Inside our minds
And copies of people
Millions of them
We design their roles
In our inner theater
The world
The people
Have become clones
In our puppetry
We attribute meaning
To everything we see
And sometimes
The significance we imply
Makes no sense
As we touch what is real—
Textured in being
And capable of pulsation—
We cry
We feel sorry
aaaaWe split into two

Mr. Barredo’s biography, in his own words: I grew up in the Philippines with my family. I’m 24, a psychology graduate. When we speak of pecking order, it may be weird to find a poor person whose inclinations are literary classics and unorthodox ideologies. I live in a small house with a leaking roof, but I have a rich personal library. My church is a secondhand bookstore. My dream is to inspire people by carrying a little torch that is the pen. To inspire people with the light that I can offer.