The Pixelated Heart Poem by Keith Dovoric

We think we have a picture
But that's not how it goes
Give ‘em one little piece of the puzzle,
And everybody thinks he knows
Despite chronic indecision
And a shellshock-life apart,
We try to glimpse the pixelated heart

Amid televised reactions
And disparate campaigns,
We memorize the slogans
And emulate the strains
Behind a force-field of assurance
That the race will sometime start -
The way it goes with the pixelated heart

One tile in the mosaic
Is all we really get
But go bother the artist
And ask him if the paint's still wet
Let him strike you with his easel
And run you down with his cart
For poking around in the pixelated heart

You pretend you've got the answers
I pretend I know them, too
On my crutch of self-importance,
I can recite a thing or two
I can see most of the landscape
Until the pregnant missiles dart
Straight into the pixelated heart.