White Noise on the Wire
White Noise on the Wire
I am sitting on the far end of the couch from you.
i am not looking at you,
but i am paying full attention.
Silent; i am stripped down to myself.
you fiddle and fuss
with the gadgetry inherent to your existence
in this, the modern era, all your tech clamours for attention:
needy children
with nothing to say
and nothing to do but take.
you acuse and i have no response.
i am mute.
i am blind.
all my words and understanding are stoppered up.
Like a hose with a kink,
my emotions leak,
infecting our day to day.
and you snap back at my silence
this alien sensation, this space where substance should be,
like you could never have caused any of what i am feeling;
any of what you are feeling.
distracted you coset and jiggle the children:
remotes - they are.
are we?
i feel taken for granted.
i feel like i might be taking your for granted.
i assume that there must be something wrong with me
for you to react to me the way you do,
for you to live as you do.
hold me, see me.
be here, be real.
even if you dont like what you hear
and dont want to talk about it.
and a little voice,
from far back within me,
struggles to form the words
and failing, falls silent, ashamed.
so i am sitting, silent, at the other end of the couch
and i shrug at your accusations and try again.
you believe i have just ignored you
although i am paying attention, complete and full attention, to you
and you are still grappling with the digital menagerie of your life.
a snake handler, a lion tamer.
they will eat you, lover.
you begin to make up fantastical reasons
and i shake my head in silence with each one.
behind layers of passive observations
i scrape and burrow, lost;
looking for my words
and wonder if i imagined you feeling angry
a hot memory of your annoyance flashes
and as i push it back at you
you confirm that i imagined it all.
hey look, new poetry.
this, and all the ones for October that follow, are parts of pages i resurrected recently.
stuff i scribbled but found no use for.
i'm putting it up in the hopes of reigniting a spark.
I am sitting on the far end of the couch from you.
i am not looking at you,
but i am paying full attention.
Silent; i am stripped down to myself.
you fiddle and fuss
with the gadgetry inherent to your existence
in this, the modern era, all your tech clamours for attention:
needy children
with nothing to say
and nothing to do but take.
you acuse and i have no response.
i am mute.
i am blind.
all my words and understanding are stoppered up.
Like a hose with a kink,
my emotions leak,
infecting our day to day.
and you snap back at my silence
this alien sensation, this space where substance should be,
like you could never have caused any of what i am feeling;
any of what you are feeling.
distracted you coset and jiggle the children:
remotes - they are.
are we?
i feel taken for granted.
i feel like i might be taking your for granted.
i assume that there must be something wrong with me
for you to react to me the way you do,
for you to live as you do.
hold me, see me.
be here, be real.
even if you dont like what you hear
and dont want to talk about it.
and a little voice,
from far back within me,
struggles to form the words
and failing, falls silent, ashamed.
so i am sitting, silent, at the other end of the couch
and i shrug at your accusations and try again.
you believe i have just ignored you
although i am paying attention, complete and full attention, to you
and you are still grappling with the digital menagerie of your life.
a snake handler, a lion tamer.
they will eat you, lover.
you begin to make up fantastical reasons
and i shake my head in silence with each one.
behind layers of passive observations
i scrape and burrow, lost;
looking for my words
and wonder if i imagined you feeling angry
a hot memory of your annoyance flashes
and as i push it back at you
you confirm that i imagined it all.
hey look, new poetry.
this, and all the ones for October that follow, are parts of pages i resurrected recently.
stuff i scribbled but found no use for.
i'm putting it up in the hopes of reigniting a spark.