You always look at surfaces
as if they really matter, and
yes, they do, and yes, they don’t.

Beyond the image,
away from representation,
apart from words
that are flung around,
there is being,
sitting in flesh,
feeling intensely,
and looking for connection.

You always draw the lines
of intersection, but these say nothing
of a person, a human, a creature
living for meaning,
for survival,
for feeling like nothing
but searching for something
beyond the categories of assumption.

Surfaces spawn dismissal, dissection,
distance and derision.

Is this our creation of progression?

 

23/6/2024