We are the synapses firing
In the obscurity of night
In the clarity of morning’s light
Firing thoughts we trigger on keyboards
Or mobile devices
Bouncing around the world and back
Where time is nothing
And everything
We weave a trading blanket
That covers us
To a degree
While we play with each other
In the dark warmth
We like our comforts
Shared
Like the thoughts we send out
Elegantly crafted
Metered rhymes
Form fitting testaments to creativity
Shocking thoughts of lust filled musings
Reinterpretations of perceptions
Random synchronicity
Illusions
Outright lies
We take facts and deconstruct them
Reassembled into feelings
Or emotions
We paint pictures with words
We admonish and cajole
We hunger for feedback
And feed on the cornucopia
That keeps our tables filled
With thoughts and words and memes
We are the synapses
We versify
Our words sing the truth of creation
But it’s not always pretty
David Trudel © 2012
createdavidt 
This is not pretty, David. It is strong and wonderful!
pretty
is a handful of daisies
in a china vase
or a little girl
painting pale lipstick marks
on her father’s cheek
this poem is full-grown
and wraps words
tighter than arms
& suggests shameless exploration
under that blanket
(unless it is lying
about the blanket,
which it could be)
I love your response which deserves to be reposted itself! And what goes on under the blanket is indeed shameless and certainly not innocent.
David, thank you…really liked your poem (obviously **smile**), and I thought since I have been so delighted by your poetic responses on my blog, I should return the favor. This was so much fun!
Isn’t it? It’s different from collaborating on a single piece but I enjoy poems that provoke a poetic reply.
Yes–I think you have created a monster–I might not be able to stop with poetic responses!