Inward in word

"We become what we behold. We shape our tools and then our tools shape us."

Marshall Mac Luhan

Inside
there is no
purple sky
dappled clouds
yellow beams
and dazzling white
no crackling
sounds
or insects chirping
no humming
buzzing
symphony playing

How do we ever
endure
the abstract
as if
it was pure?

The letters
I use
to spell
the colors
and
the sound
are the same tools
we use
with precision
(of the clinician)
to think
as if
we do not feel.