Same Game New words -- 10 words

First, We Operate

If she could just
compress her thoughts
into one, then maybe
she could run free
and fast through this field,
but the first thought
combines with fear, and
with every step forward,
a step back to the source
of mind mines.
Everyone tries to help her,
offering teas and mantras,
steeped in mystique,
but the play in her head,
replays her death,
over and over and over
again, and with that
one thought,
she is running
ahead of the doctor,
who is still talking
about the operation.

******i play an invisible piano
stirring swirling dust***spinning nonsensical patterns
on currents too faint to feel***edged in gold halos
********* angels dancing in sunlight***impossible to grasp

touch so lazily free
******let go of what we've over-thought
feel my body bending
************beneath you
twisting to accommodate your every deviation
***************all your off-center curves

i play up your mystique in every interrogation
******disguised as conversation
let you remain unknown***a collection of observations
compressed, combined**you're hollow
***************************************************all negative space
you rest almost comfortably
******************i am the only one who knows
******************more than comfort, you wanted
************************************flight

************************operate out of oblivion
**************nobody's ever close enough
******to follow you back to the beginnings, to the source of
what's disguised as passion or compassion --
******i helped you lose it
************i know the way

My mind, free
plays in thoughts,
compressed.

Mystique,
devoid of source,
combines with
experience
to produce a scream
for help.

Specific synapses
of our past
fail to operate
since you
left.