Graphite looks nice in the light,
Like stars in a pitch black night,
Words popping like popcorn...

I’m torn;
Why do the girls over there laugh at me?
Am I like some comedy act—but free?
Perhaps it’s my face
Or the way I like to trace
These words on this table,
These little meaningless fables
Flowing straight from my mind,
Only to be left behind
On this starry night sky,
Installed by some guy
That nobody knows
Or remembers when he goes...