Communal Isolation

Four billion voices in four billion heads…buzzing out words through mouth or by mouse on the web, building their own, individual clones

Being a waitress makes you aware of bodies and eyes and all the insatiable needs that mask candid glory and present all out of one vacant face.

Under a fluid swath of sky, what makes you thirsty and whom do you choose to swallow? Do you keep the light on when you sleep?

Four billion stories and four billion ways to view the world. How many births since the dawn of reason seas?

And why was I surprised to a see a hammerhead bleed red cells over the dock? When everything living has a face.

All exchange breath and find rest in the gaps, the root. Let me be a human being. Let this human be.

In the busy restaurant we connect to feed and serve departed. Bellowing beings lost to speech.

The wondering mind returns to indecipherable confusion. Maybe because the sum total is aquamarine immensity of the magnificent infinity of zero.

What shape do we choose to form as we cycle? Polarized oxymorons may lead us to the holy grail.

In the mean time that ceases to exit I will serve you an iced tea and cut you bread and when I return home I will not remember anything prolific about what has been said.