I lose my grip
on reality.
Connexion snapped
in the egg of sharing.
To fool fatality
I seize my fountain
pen and holler
to the wind and drizzle
outside my window,
For an opening
in the dark clouds, monuments
whose continents sail past
so fast on the edge
of the atmosphere.
Velocity closer
to an aeroplane's;
from my desk, they hardly
seem to budge. Taunting
my own immobility
as I grapple for words.
©susanbauryrouchard