I want to string the strands of your hair between my fingertips,
Universe beaded in threads of boundless night sky.
I am a black hole, a singularity of compressed hopes,
Millions of light years away from the way your tired
smile powers my heart. The way your ghost
eyes haunt the pumping of matter
lost in infinities surrounded by nothingness for
eternity.

Every surfer must fall everyday before they can tame the waves.

I listen
I listen and learn
I repeat nonsense words
I am the collection of songs I have heard
I have listened
I am the repeat-machine
I stamp the test-papers with my mind until I grind to null
I am the flutter of wounded ears
I am the stutter of worn-out gears
I listen
I want no more than a sound
I am no more stilted than the final power-down
I am no longer.
I listen
I listen
I wonder at life
Unreachably supreme, a fever dream that eludes me on all tries, what is it but the soft sigh of soul strokes heart of breathing apart, wings oiled at the seams, flash of black, eyes reflect the splatters of light of laughter twittering, cracks of skin shimmering red dawn engulfing fingers curled upon your blisters, yearning sense of worth and I wonder at
Tasting sweet, dissolving sweat of aching arms slippery, sweltering but comforted by breezes the smell of left-over rain and chlorophyll fills lungs of rusty overuse from the pulse on your left temple, let go at listening splash on stone of shoes on road and of poetry and prose
Unattainably beautiful
I listen.