no one understands, we all live in our own
skin pulled taut over beating hearts and
electrified brain cells
how many zeros in the number of synapses
and the connections between them?
it's amazing we can even have a conversation
about those dishes stacked on the kitchen counter.
they are mine, I know since you've been home
I don't carry my weight at all, dropping
my lunch box next to the dirty dishes
only to go upstairs to write or look out the
window at the moon rising in the east
as the sun drops abruptly into the west
what an endless merry-go-round
so I talk to myself, my brain cells in perfect
synchronicity, my heart catching every beat,
my words understood before they are
even spoken.
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