where's
the man
with
the crazy pen,

why isn’t
he
writing?

on the bus I am jittery

in my room I am not free

in my room I’m in, deep in

on the bus, I focus on what
he is not saying

in my room, I build his thought
from words that don’t exist yet.

on the bus, I’m foreign
I feel separated like I’m the one going

I play
it
safe in my room.

I want to step out

I want to leave the room
when I get back on the bus.

he says nothing,
his mouth isn’t moving.

the only thing going is the bus.

there was the table

you liked. The one

we kept in my room.

we made tea on top of it

it was small

and every time

i’d ask, you’d

say no look we cant

make love on it.

what happened to that table
i miss its being in between us

Every time I hit my heels to its sides
The horse would go cut wind and go beyond its power, even faster
I would bend forward protecting my eyes against nature: specs of
leaves, bugs
Her brown frame trotting full speed wouldn’t pause for water
Me careful holding on not to fall off thinking of the skies, the red
pinkish ones and how
how after this, I may have no one else to fly for
I just wanted to go as fast as we could
over up a hill then ease into valleys then
Home where the neighbors, all strangers, with different languages
hoping everyone understands gallop, gallop, gallop=get out the way, get out the way

The more I hit her sides, I realized we were both made of the same flesh
And that I could not control her
And before because of my ignorance, I couldn’t understand this.
She slowed down
I do not wish to be controlled she said back to me

There’s a law that goes something like:
            nothing can be tamed
            And that the grass is wild,
            And that this grass grows wild everywhere
            Unpredictable in its layout
The second part goes:
            The sun shines in places we can’t see

This sky we’re under can’t be caught and observed in some jar,
can’t be manipulated into giving rain,
it expands beyond our vision wildly in every way north
in every way south
in every way—

me your horse,
am not your horse, if it weren’t for evolution of you-man
to try to control all that wanders in free and in nature,
all that is visible seems obtainable in the eyes of man-kind-less-ness
boy, the trick nature played on the both of us