To keep the librarian Millie happy, a library employee has agreed to do some writing. His chosen topic is transmission line theory. Part 1 is here.
Our life’s within our skin,
squeeze me to my broken bones,
I’m still outside of you,
a part of your exterior,
your shared illusion.
Beyond the gates and through the door,
over my glasses and behind my eyes,
a cozy inner planet spins.
Although we do our best,
we’re all imperfect on the inside:
convoluted angels, antipodean demons
and unnamed peccadilloes,
curled up on the bed or hiding
underneath the lounge.
But what if our internal landscape
is less than congruent with the world?
A purely hypothetical someone
might believe that they’re adorable,
a tail-wagging puppy,
yet find their only friend’s a talking clock.
At this point Millie nodded.
It’s just turned midnight, but do go on.
If the mismatch with reality’s severe,
if our inner world is fanciful and fragile,
transmissions will be reflected
at the interface.
To strangers in the realm beyond,
we become a mirror, all intimation
and shallow imitation,
while our caged canary thoughts
are trapped inside our skull.
You’re not my friend, are you?
Are the canaries asking?
Peccaries, armadillos and the hybrid peccadillo species are often confused, so the wood ducks tell me.