there is a boy who smells like crushed up pills
who licks his lips when he thinks hard
and holds his hands in the pockets of his
blue windbreaker.
he is the kind of person with the kind of mind
that you wish you could read; you want to
delicately crack open his skull and reveal the
contents written in its folds.
you want to know what is written on the crumpled up
slips of graph paper that he carries in his jacket pockets.
you want to know why he is and why you are and
what mess of universal ties somehow connect you.