The Pixelated Heart

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.