Connections
I can’t find it
A way to connect
To you
Or them
Or that teacher who is preaching
or that preacher who is “teaching”
Myself, even?
I can’t describe the distaste
And white-hot frustration
A grit I cannot scratch off my teeth or lick off my lips
A bitter
Bitter grit
That isn’t enough
Grasping at straws
Those damned slippery straws
yet
My pen hits the paper
Hits?
Glides and sprints and dashes across the lines and folds and doodles I scratched
When I could no longer listen to them
ALL of them
And even you
And especially myself
So my fingers drill the keys
And my eyes scan the lines
And pages
And novels
And series and libraries
Libraries filled with tales and tactless endeavors and calculations
So many fucking calculations
But I still can’t find it
Observer?
A master observer
Maybe that’s all I am
And ever will be
Because I still just cannot find it
