Of Scar Tissue and Compilers

We are
Always
One revolution
Of mind and emotion
Behind each other.

We fall
In infinite circles
Around equilibrium.

Stuck in orbit, we
try
To solve
A free body problem.

And this separation
Is delicate.
Stretching us to comfortable stability;
But
Does a snapping string
Make a sound
If there's no one around to
To hear it?

...

For silence you art, and unto
Silence shalt thou return.

...

And time and sleep shall heal,
As always, too much;
The great lobotomizers.

...

The turtle crawls into herself; alas
That fate is an artist, not a logician; alas,
That I touched too much.