Confused Days

The association forms daily

Each yanked towards it, invisibly sewn

A public property no one appreciates

An unseen agreement, manifested

In the oblivious routine of our course

Tattooed by the steps we leave on the ground

It’s what we all have, yet none of us own

The conjoined existence we’ve perfected to slavery

Infinite circles congeal and congest

Impossibly wrapped in a meaningless vine

An all-encompassing stream of sourceless information

Nameless, as collective as the ocean

Ever conscious, never defined

At one single time, the sound of orderly confusion

Of chaos of no-one’s making

Yet everyone’s blame

The soundless decomposition

Of old information

The murderous kiss of time

The seamless script of ill communication

The miniscule classifications of spoken desperation

A collage of couples, singles

And knots too tight to classify

Or be viewed by anyone outside their constriction

In designated anonymity, the asphyxiation

The claustrophobic glee of a motionless stampede

Flattens your lungs

Chokes your eyes

And leaves you hanging, a carcass in twisted momentum

Like a fly, dead, on an endless wall

But which could never move when live

The human connection, constructing its own irrelevance

All customs and logic completely opaque

A food chain of no consumption

Only waste, of words and time

A chart that never stops moving

All the useless vibrations form a straight line

For all these lost years I have charted courses

Made alliances, brokered trade with the heavy tangibility of words

Made maps of paths that succumbed to non-existence

Read people whose language was never mine

My notes made no sense then, their non-meaning drained from them now

The information comes and goes, and plummets through a sieve

As you are left to fall, amongst it all, until the day you leave

- by Halligan Quin

This entry was posted by Neil Keating, on Sunday, 20 April 2008. You can leave your response.