“There is also another option – they are saying nothing.” --Andrew Adamatzky on Mushroom Communication
we like to see parallels.
human connections
between living things.
electrical impulses
in the mycelium
become words
and sentences.
sending warnings.
expanding access to food
and water.
but no word
on messages being sent
designed only
to hurt
and hate.
so the parallel
falls apart
breaking time,
again,
pumping seconds
until they burst
leaving shard like
milliseconds
on the ground.
double-step
around the mess
(never step on a shard of time)
content to
let someone else
(you may meet yourself)
repair
the damage.
but sunlight
refracts
through the pieces
kaleidoscoping
my vision
guiding me back
(maybe not back)
(maybe not forward)
stuck
again.
It's a paper airplane kind of day.
The words won't stick
so I fold them
and sail them,
across the room at first,
then up the stairs
and out the door
into forgotten sunshine
(my mind is still
cloudy and gray)
until this minor wonder of aviation
comes to rest
in what remains of the rain,
taking on too much water to fly,
but now
my spirit
can take flight.
