sitting by a little stream,
rapid rocks hide my scream;
no word worth hearing,
“Contact” named for its death,
away from servile bondage to the world.
Independent. Cold. “I don’t care,”
intensely unbearable, warped, thrives,
abrasive continents collides,
word back and forth amplify: unbearable.
insecure beauty collections compound compulsively.
bleeds. biting lip,
bored stagnation within vast irrelevant complexities; a skillful silence. Reluctant to communicate it, ambivalent escape, no screaming song to sing.
Sees over abundant life
of hope and justification
behind a passive mask of silent desperation.