Holding the receiver, left ear burning to your echo
I wonder why I never hear it coming. It catches me
again, and somewhere a torchlight flickers with exposure.
Down the line the fire melded arc of your acceptance
sends a shock of electricity, so charged it leaves me
prickling as your forked tongue hangs in dead air.
At times like this you are afflicted with a snow blindness,
no panacea for the defeaning interference of white noise
as you keep pushing the me that you see to the fore.
I stare out of the window, tap the glass with a dull clink
and sharpened claw as I await reverberations that will inevitably
break the surface. Splintering again, only this time I shift.
Are you mad or am I? I can’t seem to find my anchor anymore,
sitting here with the Emperor as he tries on new clothes.
I don’t see your truth, nor you mine. Reality lost with a flatline tone
The call is over. Message bottled. Receiver click.
Written for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub.