Calmstorm

I begin

by thinking

perhaps there's no point

in one more person

writing one more poem

but we give and recieve simultaneously

words are half-written by the reader anyway

let's pry and loosen our mind

from its well worn neural path

and stretch it wide like bubble gum

until it covers me and you

and the pixels in this cathode tube

(well, maybe yours is liquid crystal

but the equation is the same)

I grok the order of operations

but I'd rather sing my wistful song

to the pale and rising moon

for numbers are stark and ruthless

unnerving absolute abstraction

but words are like synapses

where the axon meets the dendrite

and though chemical messages flow between,

the endings never quite touch

what they calculate is the rythm

of impressions recieved and sorted

when nerves, like long and wispy webs

vibrate the pattern at the edge of self

and transmit to the galactic core

if I reach out my hand

and touch your fingers with mine

if we could capture the physical vibration

of the energy storm created

and graphically represent it

on two different visual mediums

would what I feel

look like what you feel?