letters touch minds’ hands
reveling in details of
stroked t.s
dashed i.s
seeing nothing save ink
/
taste monochrome rainbows
raised pillars of dark salt
stretching from minds’ volcanoes
pouring self magma through
canyons of once-trees
/
drink desaturated dialects
swimming in shallow graves
six points
under a
broken page

paper
touch not simply skin but
soul
where stimulus meets
response
torn from itself yet
visceral in its unity
connectedness imparted by
love without commitment and
pain without pleasure of tomorrows but
infused through thought
a thought without life
immortal but
inconsequential
floating through darkness
without
light trailing its path
darkness lacking
depth of
feeling without stimulus
soul touching paper
without response
creation ends