The lack of connections
Call it Un-connection, Non-Connection
It is as if what I hear called reality
With all of its little hints, codes, and colloquialisms
Is just a story someone found worth repeating.
Damn similarly imaginative Ape-Childs
All howling as told to, to that which we were shown
To fear and hate and love and want.
It is like noticing something you now remember
Seeing all the time
Last night, between dreams and thinking, I visited
That thin preserve of true wonderment
I could see through what was told to be real
There was nothing behind it.
Not in a bad way. Not in any way.
I reached out, thru all my pasts
Every etched touch.
Seeing if any held true. Not a one.
Each easy to release.
No. That’s not right. Not release.
There was instead really, again,
Nothing.
