“It’s a forest, not a leaf
… nor a bit of bark, nor phloem”
He said. He said. He said.
“Don’t focus on the red veins”
“This is about the sentence,
… rather than individual words.”
“Stop looking at the veins!”
I said “Why are you talking about eyes?
And where is the correlation
Between retinas and xylem?”
I said. I asked.. I could say I said.
“This is where eyes and brains
And hearts separate.”
This is our language.
I said. I said.
“This is why eyes eat us from our insides.
This is an important science experiment
“Stop looking at the red veins!”
He said. He said.
“I can’t. All I see are veins!
All I see are the leftover feasts of Mygalomorphae.
All I see are micro-organisms
With my microscope eyes.
All I see are bits. I see bits!
… But I read forests.”
I read forests.
And I read galaxies.
But I see plasmid balls.
And red eyeball veins.
And red leaf veins.
she sees and feels the details...he wants her to just get an overall picture and be happy with that...
that is why males fail so often in relationships...
don't know how to find the spot that turns the woman on...don't look at the little stuff which in time really enlarges itself...
i like this poem...sounds a bit like Robert Creeley...i like the conversations mixed in poetic phrasing.
they're together but not really. this couple...he in his own world...she trying to break down the wall...