Even if I were to study Kinesiology,
it couldn't give me the slightest hint
as to why you move, the way you do.

I could listen to a sub woofer's bass,
and it still couldn't give me a trace
of the things that make you
feel alive.

And even with scissors,
I could never cut out
from a cloth
just why you are the way you are.

The patch cord that you play with
amps up the sounds I hear,
and yet I could not ever
hear a single tear.

To me you are a subway station,
busying about, seeing me there
but not seeing me clear
A small blur, in the corner of your eye

To you, I am there then gone again
But to ignore you? I couldn't even pretend.