Circuitry

The body feels
my heart into convulsions.  I will float
a pulse beneath your words like sparks.
Like Cage said, there is an art of silence.
There is a connection in shared experience—
not that kind of connection, with stars—
a charge of peaks and lines that shocks
it all.  Even when you shuffle in the dark
and still we deign to translate.  You deny
I will see the arc of contact.  Blue light,
lit with signals and untranslatable impulse.
Even when you shuffle in the dark, I
should take offense.  I don’t.  Instead,
a charge of peaks and lines that shocks,
breaking through the blindness, that thin cord
in the eyes; instead a wire, a filament
of things said which cannot be said
of our quiet.  They draw lines around the dark,
across the room and touch me accidentally,
most things you’ve said to me, and I
all attachment and the tongue to announce it, yet
it’s there.  It stuns us, seals the many edges
with charges of peaks and lines that shock,
lit with signals and untranslatable impulse.
There is a connection in shared experience—
and still we deign to translate.  You deny
attachment and the tongue to announce it, yet
I will see the arc of contact.  Blue light,
not that kind of connection, with stars:
the body sees nothing.  The body feels
like Cage said, that there is an art of silence,
there is a pulse beneath your words like sparks,
–not that kind of connection, with stars—
the body sees nothing.

Brandy McKenzie

 

Brandy McKenzie has published poems in more than three dozen literary magazines, been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and worked on the editorial boards of three different nationally distributed literary magazines. These days, she mostly works as a paralegal, teaches critical thinking and writing to community college students, and tries to provoke conversation about the alternate history she’s sure we’re entering like some sort of waking dream.)