If it is miscommunication you seek

Tripping on the pebbles of sand at the bottomless sea

I have a riddle for your pleasure

Dissention emulating from your sickly pores

Slashing through the quaking trees

 

Sounds can control your limbs

And my limbs hold you tight

But where does the meaning ‘tight’ emulate from

And within emulation is there condescension

What would I be condescending?

 

If we are made of matter

And atom upon atom creates us and our own gods

Which we are and all else;

Our hands together

Would that not make us one?

 

One: so simple and easily defined

But they are black and we are white and the rest

Are in the gray area between

 

Only I know that two and two million do not exist

In math equations never-ending

After the pencil is back in the bag and slips up

Into the white of our brains where we don’t think

Yet we do

 

Black is white and red is golden when bodies are silent

Because we touch through you and I

Or through the lined and fully equated paper I left behind

And the fractions don’t mean a thing

They serve to remind us we are part of a whole

And slaves were once a whole being

 

Heterogeneous mixtures are we to the flies

Feeding over our lifelessness

But is it us without life

Or is the fly the corpse buzzing

Another sound that leaves us feeling

Just a little bit right