Connected

Inside the body
of sleep, each thinking
we are alone & surrounded
by wholly private visions,
failing to recognize
the animal whose footfalls
we hear in place of our own,
touching what we take
for a wall where there are only
other fingers, other skins,
& waking to the smell of heat
on a cool morning in early
summer: I’ve turned into
a tourist in my own life.
I carry a camera from room
to room, alert for any irruption
of significance into the hum-
drumming of home appliances.
Someday, even my breathing
will seem worthy of note.

10 Replies to “Connected”

  1. I carry a camera from room
    to room, alert for any irruption
    of significance into the hum-
    drumming of home appliances.
    Someday, even my breathing
    will seem worthy of note.

    Now, I would like to see that photograph of breath, the day it seems worthy of note! To be Bontaesque-at-its-best, it would have to be what I am not expecting, not caught in the cold air or fogging the mirror.

    Not even containing an upside-down insect.

    What?

  2. A fine poem, Dave. I particularly like ‘alert for any irruption
    of significance into the hum-
    drumming of home appliances’. From adjective into verb.

  3. Thanks for commenting, y’all. I don’t know how obvious the irony was here. But the fact is, at the moment, I am very disconnected, having lost my internet access!

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