Wrong Form of Communication




Some say that’s

the definition of insanity.


The people

whom I can’t see

but I know

are just within

my reach

are telling me

by mail delivered by horseman

that they can’t find

my messages.


My machine

is no small thing

it’s from the beginning

of the 19th century.

It has long arms,

and I am waving them



My message

is the signal

we decided on.

I give it


and again.

But whenever the mailmen,

who travel on horse,

pass by

they say that those

I name

have not received them.




The next horseman

who comes,

I ask,

as I always do,

if my message

was received

by those I name.

He says no.


I dig beneath my tower.

To hell with my fury.

I decide

to send a horseman

to my other telegraph operators,

how ironic.




Upon the written responses,

I find out the ugly truth.


As it turns out,

that those I needed

so badly to contact directly

were hundreds of miles away

using another form

of communication


My arms were waving wildly

in vain.


Well at least

I’m not


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