Young Writers Society

6-30-05

And what is a tragic eye,
and what is a comic one?
Staring from stupendous distances,
piercing with a familiar foreignness,
throwing around the word fat and a lifetime
in a few quick keyboard paint-dashes.

And what is mystery?
A two-dimensional computerized window
into another human being’s soul,
and I have the keys,
playing around with a combination, while
she fingers mine, and then, those sudden moments when
it clicks and is gone,
and what is mystery?

And then, things unravel and things sizzle,
and I maybe the hands we’re each the fingers of
are connected, and we are one
And who am I
to ask who are you?