Take me by the hand,
see me through your placid garden.
Walk with me, St. Mary's.

March me in time to your rhythm;
let me wield the mallet that beats your drum.
Sing to me, St. Mary's.

String my sole into the primordial web
within the black walnut tree.
Lay with me, St. Mary's.

Close my eyes and tilt me back;
dip me into the murky pond.
Baptize me, St. Mary's.

Take me down to the fiery shoreline;
we'll linger beneath the countenance of the rugged cross.
Crucify me, St. Mary's.

Sit me by your mystic grave,
cast a silent earthy veil over me.
Bury me, St. Mary's.

Chip me from the rock, free me of these shackles,
rocket me into the heavens.

Liberate me, St. Mary's.

my thoughts are paper planes
that don't seem to see the runways that i drew
on the blank sheets in front of me.

Pizza boxes sit at curb sides every thursday.
Bottles and cans fill most weekends, some
week days because why not?
We celebrate in ***** rooms, letting liquids leave all sorts of stains.
Semesters pass and we pass (sometimes),
with nothing left in our pockets but long-term debt, friendly conversations lost in the haze of moderate alcoholism, and memories that we feel will last forever.
Youth is wasted on the young, they say,
but what better way to spend a Tuesday than day-drinking in eternal ecstasy?

"Education is an orbit of teachers and students. You are constantly learning from others and circulating that knowledge."
Jl 2004

Get up.
Fix yourself.
Time for school.
*What the heck!!?

Once, far away, Andalusia of time.
Was I, this dreamer, this student of crime.
Devouring textbooks with a gluttonous glee.
Of masters I conversed with, with lives like movies.
FBI-profilers, psychopathologists.

Faces carved from paleo-lithic stone.

The hearts of sailors betrayed by Triton.
Their ill-fitting suits an anarchists cry.

Oh blessed hearts long since buried in the plots,
of victims whose killers would never see man’s courts.
Who knew the world and hoped to teach I,
this fresh young prey with a predator’s eye.
This fresh young prey with a predator’s eye.

Sat I with the masters, in those secret little rooms
where the dead are shuffled to have chosen for them a grave.

And it’s never more real than when the beast sits still.
In the agonising ordinary glow of the halogen buzz
that shines on guilty and innocent alike.

To reduce us all to such pathetic things.

That if not for the debt, this creature’s crimes
one could pity being on such obscene display.
If it were not known to me, in great detail
the river of misery and depravity he had left in his wake.

As a mugshot robs the aura, so too the well lit room.

And I understood why it took a much colder mind.

As even though I possessed all the faculties which
could follow and track and trap the prey;
the predator must also ****.

And being in those secret little rooms
I knew I could not see it through.

I left it to those stronger than I
and leave my mark through other designs.

I need a teacher
to tell me that I'm great
at this writing thing
who will give me constructive criticism
and As
and gold stars or something

Or I at least need a teacher
to tell me that I'm terrible
and should revise
and demand more of myself
and hit the delete button
and do something else with my life

But now that I'm the teacher--
...how do I get better?

He's different, I think
When I sat down firstly
I barely gave a blink
So did he, none did speak


But then he asked me
"Is that x over y?"
And he smiled so gently
So heavenly, it warmed me

I said, "Yes, yes it is,"
And returned the smile
half-heartedly
In hopes he'd return one back

Everyday, I sat beside him
Everyday, I hoped I could to to him
Everyday, I psyched myself
Everyday, I believe fate would bring him to me

I think I started to fall a little harder
in my mind, so much thoughts to ponder
"What if we fell together,
or would he treat me like another brother?"

His friends are vastly... different
Egos blown, language ever so sharp
They'd play and frolic around
But he, no, he'd rather sit and look around

Unlike them, he liked to smile a lot
Unlike them, he'd give and opt not to take
Unlike them, he'd speak with his eyes filled of genuine interest
Unlike them, he'd make you feel... warm... understood... human

Time passed, I did nothing
I was ever content with small talk
We'd have hard time graphing parabolas
But when will love come around, my own graph?

The last day came, and all we ever did was write
He'd make jokes, and I would laugh
The hour passed, now time to say goodbye
"Dart sa heart", he utters, leaving me to ponder

Time for judgment day came
I utter my wish for luck to him, him to me
A grueling hour or two ran by so fast
I sighed, was relieved, was done, but could not afford a glance.

"3 minutes left!", the professor says
I nodded sassily
He chuckles
He nods as well
I think
I ponder
I feel
"Did he even feel so differently about me?"

The day is done
He walked off first
I followed
But there was no goodbyes
and neither did close the door
so I was left open

"When would I ever see him again?"
But I'd like to meet
but the answer is never
maybe pain is part of this growing...

It lies, turgid.
Beneath the seedy mass of microscopy
lit fluorescent, breathing.
Bloated cellulose bricks in syrup
Conjunctive in an extracellular mess,
Ripped mesh and tiny sculpturettes
Freshly bleeding.
Chloroplastic green and iron red
slivers of nucleic endoscopy
A secret glimpse framed by my eyelashes.