Touch and theory encapsulate
our puzzle; Through time immemorial.
They gesticulate; Articulate a series of words.
For a moment we temporarily connect the
dots that separate us.
Like bullets: Sentences fly past and over them.
Short shrieks like birds; Chirps and squeaks,
mediated, modulated dots are sought;
Those meek connections we seek.
In these inevitable monologues and snapshots
we click: never to be seen, we meet.
Drenched in the false tranquility,
we touch temporarily when we converse.
Merely a metaphor: muddled illusion,
an invisible scatter of dots we spot.
This tense twitter that we tweak
thinking end and end will meet.
Future bleak; Our conjured portraits immaculate,
never punctured through to them.
Language is a flurry of connections
that never ends:
never was, never will be.
YOU ARE READING
Snippets
Poetry"Snippets" is a collection of what I deem to be the best of my early poetry. Often written late at night, I like to think of them as snippets of my phenomenological experience at certain points in life, a memory of thought out of time that I can rea...
