I felt like this last week!

How to keep on writing, when the writing turned into an assembly line of words upon words upon words with their meaning now being lost. And even after I press “publish” there’s another button that hits “forget.”

And in this intensity of time, what value have these words if they don’t serve to connect?

Universes apart, yet near. Our words the nexus to love.

(As in patience and kindness and truth. Lust belongs to the eyes. And I’m on my way to become a blind man. Against my will)

Beautiful poem, Connie.

Pablo