The Collision Theory by Lola Simon


Yesterday I left my body behind.

I viewed the world from the telephone wires

that criss crossed outside my window

and listened to the low hum of conversations

colliding between my thoughts.  

It’s funny how easy it is

to get caught up in futile things.

I tried to count the cracks in the ceiling over my bed

but it was hard to decide

when one crack ended and another began.

Intersections always seem to follow me;

Lines cross and tumble over each other

as if they are racing to some unknown destination

and by attempting to slice each other in two

they’ll become more significant when they finally find the finish line.

I have always wondered if telephone wires

feel meaningless compared to

the great wide horizon that presses against them;

reducing them to nothing but scribbles

against a backdrop of the infinite.

But the infinite must end eventually too

and what is the infinite

if it has nothing left to say?