Pneumatic Equipoise


What comes of us?

Can we ever parse the sentence

that we wrote together

ending in no period?


Blood drips down now,

but only metaphorically.

I cannot produce

or reproduce the past

by separating the noun of you

from the verb of you.


There is no way to understand

logically

anything.

One must find a way

to accept the not knowing


or else


life is pure misery

unconjugated pain

with no images

to grope with the eyes

or the ears


sounds and sights

don't match up


fragments are the closest thing

to reality

perhaps

but who dares to say

what is reality


appropriateness and balance

must suffice


pneumatic equipoise

my personal goal