Max Gutmann

Conscious Agents 
    From Don Juan Finish’d 

You sages aren't surpris'd to learn that cowardice
   Is courage. Truths illumine and conceal. 
The dulcet affirmation and the sour diss 
  Can equally be true. That's no big deal. 
The world is full of paradox — and now word is 
  That even space and time may not be real. 
We only think we see and smell and touch things.
The “world” is like, say, Donkey Kong and such things. 

It's all just icons on an interface:
  The sound of rain, that contract you just sign’d, 
The microbe on a slide, the feel of lace,
  The smell of skunks, the corner you were fined 
For parking at, your arm, the very space
   You (think you) move through — products of your mind. 
And even little quarks, atomic particles,
Are not, as thought, the fundamental articles. 

No, “conscious agents” are what's fundamental. 
  The theory says it's they and they alone 
We're sure of. Space? Time? Objects? Incidental. 
  They hint at some reality unknown. 
The dawn, the dung, the breeze, the brain, the lentil: 
  In all of these, our faith is overblown. 
Those conscious agents compass us and we 
Create those things — though not, um, consciously.  

Max Gutmann has contributed to dozens of publications including New Statesman, Able Muse, and Cricket. His plays have appeared throughout the U.S. and have been well-reviewed (see maxgutmann.com). His book There Was a Young Girl from Verona sold several copies.