See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

drifts of cause & casual circumstance,
          cursed & calloused like our grandfathers’ hands,
ten          ton          avalons          advertised on eyelids,
           packaged with your atoms & recollided
in dreams only worth
       as much as they will sell for
to conclaves of code      &      whoknowsanymore —

i cannot tell what is connection
                & what it protection,
                  what is recorded
               & what is live,
i cannot bear the thought
       that i’ve not been dreaming all this time –

stairs of steep & slippery salvation,
smaller than a polliwog
       & even harder to hold

how many times can we break our neck
                   on the bottommost step?
how many times can we not grow old?

all this air & no one can breathe,
all         these         lungs
    &    every   one                               is still

___________________

mathew yates is a hermit-poet from the forests of Kentucky, their poems & artwork can be found recently in Kissing Dynamite, Rhythm & Bones, Epigraph Mag, Riggwelter Press, & others.