If it’s the blind leading the blind,
At least we’re holding hands.
At least our fingers are gloving together
In knuckle-aching guidance.
At least we’re not alone.
Not blind.
Just tinted.
Tainted.
Dirty stained glass,
Refracting,
Reflecting,
But obscuring the view.
Offering up smoky
Half-truths
And quarter questions.
When did our deductive reasoning
Get deducted?
When did our novel
Novella
Get redacted
Into soundbites and local news anchors
Quipping and ripping?
If it’s the blind leading the blind
At least we’re holding hands.
At least honesty doesn’t fall on deaf ears,
Like a hollow echo from canyon’s bowels.
At least we’re hand in hand on Braille.
At least we’re not alone.
Our senses have not abandoned us.
Sensitivities
Wildfire through parched
Sensibilities,
Hungrily devouring
Like hot-air-fueled,
Oxygenated flames.
We know that the long division
Pulling apart these 50 states
Isn’t algebraic
but formulaic,
And that these attack ads
Add up
To an irritated aggregate.
Indeed,
It’s the blind leading the blind.
Take my hand.
You’re not alone.
FIN
