The heart cannot speak. The stomach cannot see. The kidney cannot hear. The liver cannot taste. The eyes cannot feel. They lack.
In this little war, the speed of the eye is null and akin to nothing. No one knows this.
Still, it theorizes,
of this.
Together, we do not move or forage or forest. Reader, what do you know of muteness? Of the world so strange and of the haunt of numbers?
I want
to know what you carry
…there…
(if it is a key, give it.)
It feels like a battle. A hidden one. A hidden, little, one. Subtle-like, where my feet do not leave prints. The air does not capture my breath. My hair does not hit the floor, it flies up to a tree where it harvests a nest for someone/thing else. Nothing shoots. Nothing loads. No thing screams, but I know something inside wants.
I don’t know what is beneath the exterior, or the virtual. I am losing. Alignment is losing. Thought is losing. Feeling is latching to some thing some where.
What happened to the story?
when?
What happened to the tale?
how?
Say that someone, somewhere knows.
reach.
Reach me.
© Umansky 2012
blog of poet, leah umansky 
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