768 miles per hour
the speed of a conversation
a drop in pitch we’re all made
of words maybe we’re all made
of poetry and a few subatomic
particles some spontaneous overflow
of Unwritten poetry and ego tripping at
the gates of tongue moments between sound,
gaps between sound waves interlude
between
translated memory ruptured interpretation
missing
footstep of word tattooed onto a page Written
but meant
to mean another thing like being etched
in stone hindered
expression of language confused space masked
by literal translation
and off beat communication in that case C’est
la vie mean not that’s life
but it is the life the indefinite article
asphyxiated by established catchphrase
familiarity voids of thought rendered a Transcontinental
splintering of fractured
message empty spaces between
transcription transliteration Transcribed denotation Cracks in the pavement 768
ways to imply the death of imported semantics
