We try to connect
beyond our small lonely selves
But we are only playing
connect the dots
with uncountable grains of shifting sand
And light years of bleak black empty space
                    between them..

You think you hear me.
You think we speak the same language.
But we never do get it right
It is always a debilitating mess.

Our unique experiences
make our interpretations ours alone,
and nobody else can understand anything
in exactly the same way.

Every word paints a million meanings,
And carries an infinite infantry of feelings
And abstract associations.

And it so seldom
really
has absolutely anything
to do
With the moment we are in
Here
And
Now.