is broken

Our eyes

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see little. Dot-to-dots fill in lines out of focus. Non-faces ghost in rain on a window. We read billboards. Glaze over at a fog of data all over like white migraines. We read billboards. Keen on width, breadth and height - Less keen on time. Less sight in age. We read billboards. Deteriorate. Rothko is Pink, Red, Pink – nothing more, nothing less. Distracted by cats on moors, convalesce in seeing saucers above our heads instead of stars. We read billboards.

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Our ears

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tune out. Ignore the cold-sweat hum - the sermon of Gods. The roar of the mob. The fell of a daffodil lost in a cold snap. The awkward crack of a gunshot.  A pin pop of a balloon when the Selotape trick’s gone wrong. Tinny headphones. Birds tweeting louder than the drone of traffic, the rancid digger, snake oil’s bluster and mother’s lullaby. Hush now, sweet child, hush now, sweet child, now hush sweet child – tune out.

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Our fingers

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feel nothing. Harden to orange. One thousand cuts expected to heal. Rub off embossed digits on a debit card like it’s credit on a balance sheet. Slick film of skin on a textbook. Paper charred floating in ashes brushed off. Lost coins down sofas. Fall into stingers. Take the warm slap of other’s high fives. The damp clasp of a handshake. DNA stagnant in the folds of your palms. Playing with Blu-Tac for calmness in chaos. The dexterous making circuits and alarms; we have already made alarms. We press nothing.

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Our noses

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held aloft. Yet, hold snot. Nostalgia in cut grass and chlorine baths, rain on tarmac and storm pressure pollen. Breathe cold coffee swirling in a cup. The perfume of love. Garlic on fingers. Burnt hair off earlobes. Beer emptied down sinks hungover, telling each other never again. And over we breathe in, and over we breathe out. And over we breathe in, and over we breathe out.  And over the top of the unending breathes, we breath in, we stress out.  

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Our tongues

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taste only 31 combinations. Miss meals. Hide crisps in our molars. Suck remnants off our fingers. Swallow. Peel chicken fat from toothpick bones. Relax around lettuce, weep ulcers, cook at home as a protest to eating outside our means. Stretched skin, rotten teeth. Sugar in everything. Clean twice daily. Floss daily. Mouthwash daily. Same meals weekly. Eat out monthly. Set a table twice yearly for stifled conversations with family who cannot hear you. So cut out your tongue and put it on the table.