If it is
miscommunication you seek
Tripping on the
pebbles of sand at the bottomless sea
I have a riddle for
your pleasure
Dissention emulating
from your sickly pores
Slashing through the
quaking trees
Sounds can control
your limbs
And my limbs hold
you tight
But where does the
meaning ‘tight’ emulate from
And within emulation
is there condescension
What would I be
condescending?
If we are made of
matter
And atom upon atom
creates us and our own gods
Which we are and all
else;
Our hands together
Would that not make
us one?
One: so simple and
easily defined
But they are black
and we are white and the rest
Are in the gray area
between
Only I know that two
and two million do not exist
In math equations
never-ending
After the pencil is
back in the bag and slips up
Into the white of
our brains where we don’t think
Yet we do
Black is white and
red is golden when bodies are silent
Because we touch
through you and I
Or through the lined
and fully equated paper I left behind
And the fractions
don’t mean a thing
They serve to remind
us we are part of a whole
And slaves were once
a whole being
Heterogeneous
mixtures are we to the flies
Feeding over our
lifelessness
But is it us without
life
Or is the fly the
corpse buzzing
Another sound that
leaves us feeling
Just a little bit
right
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