Tremulous,
I sit.
Tireless,
my eyes stare.
The phone lies in a spotlight,
spotted syllables scratching into the
recorder, strengthening my fear,
turning the treacherous waters
of conversation into
Terrifying chasms
where there is no light
to guide me, no Northern star for me
to follow,
strive for;
no star to free me
from the fear I can’t see, it’s hidden,
beneath plastic layers pulled together with numbers and signals,
communicating all of the moments
of my future.
So I sit,
tremulous,
staring at the phone;
tired.