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"Set Difficulty."
She pauses
I talk
laying tracks in a conversation
one section at a time;
not knowing where I got on,
not knowing how to get off.
Or if I want to.
Heading nowhere at a desperate rate.
Mid-track, she speaks,
as if I have arrived somewhere,
as if there is a station nearby:
I stare across the featureless plains of my momentary existence
and expire ... breathe in...breathe out...breathe in ...
I try to follow what she describes
catching torn images and fragments of sense;
but like straws fluttering about my face
the more I try to grab, the faster they fly
away.
Then I realise that there is silence again,
and another space; another space.
I talk, she listens,
and I do not know what she hears.
The clattering of track laying goes on apace
and her voice leaves no space
between my ears.
Busy Mee building bridges, busy building divides,
and if snake tracks connect...
Charlie Chan, you die!
