new form i'm trying out.

coffee                                     shop                                         talk

He sits at the coffee shop and listens to the bees of conversation swell and collapse. At first, he thinks, to the untrained ear it sounds like a game of catch. Throwing and catching the golden scorched orb of ideas. But as he listens he realizes that there is no understanding that pendulums between the thin pink brains, and no one is talking to each other. Instead, our ideas, which convert by the heat of our wanting into the lava of language shoots up from our heads in a violent pillar into space. The paths of our speech are parallel and never meet; they are infinite orchestras simultaneously growing tall. There is no listening, he thinks. That would require a cross of or a touch of something with body. Here we are, he thinks, arguing and agreeing on what we think is meaningful or important when actually the hands of our tongues never hold each other. He imagines himself running for office where his platform is conversation alone. He will pass laws that restrict people to conversate alone in their closets. “Only then can our city of individuals pay attention to the winter storm of their own ash blowing down from the volcanoes of lecture. Only then can we read omens when white word-ash falls down