10-03-2016, 05:46 PM
Technological Dysphoria
Our words cross oceans
like charged impulses
traverse synapses.
Surely, something so electric,
so revolutionary,
should put an end
to all isolation?
Yet, these keys misrepresent me
for they are stenographers,
not translators.
They only say what I can,
materialize what I conceive,
and this is their uselessness.
They can't help me interlace
my fingers with yours,
caress your rough cheek.
This is the real language
we speak—our own electricity—
without clarity or precision,
skin on skin.
Our words cross oceans
like charged impulses
traverse synapses.
Surely, something so electric,
so revolutionary,
should put an end
to all isolation?
Yet, these keys misrepresent me
for they are stenographers,
not translators.
They only say what I can,
materialize what I conceive,
and this is their uselessness.
They can't help me interlace
my fingers with yours,
caress your rough cheek.
This is the real language
we speak—our own electricity—
without clarity or precision,
skin on skin.