When we are born they make such an effort to draw;
the outlines that surround us must be well defined. They say:
you are you and they are them, no matter how it feels.
A bright scalpel is lowered expertly on a tandem cord between
hearts that bleed just the same across capillary bridges.
I think they must have overlooked however a simple process;
scars will grow under the ocher rain and spawn pathways. Still they say:
you are you and they are them, no matter how it seems.
A dull blanket is lowered expertly on the space between
eyes that gleam just the same across rainbow bridges.
She dies; he dies; I die; they die; it dies. I can no longer tell;
the syntax apart lies, dismantled on the editing floor. Again they say:
you are you and they are them, no matter how you sing.
An endless cacophony is lowered brutally on the space between
hands that reach just the same across emotional spaces.