Today:

after school, i was sitting
with a boy named clay.

he was wearing cadet uniform,
waiting for the parade to pass
the both of us, through the
asphalt dreams of our boyhood,
(left, left, left, right, left), uniformed
boys waiting to be buried in the
falling leaves of our favourite season.

Dusklight is favourable to his eyes,
and I didn't want to speak for
so long, just to look,
remembering my first seven days,
and he (boy-murdered simon),
appearing like jesus, in
illuminated pink.

He only speaks in palindromes
and gibberish. I usually love the sound,
throwing back one-liners (that witty old me),
to keep jesus preaching his word.

Today, dusklight remembered the
silence, and I remembered the beautiful
background frequencies of the toy military
and vegetation, in ordered time,
saluting the waking moon.

***

clay's eyes dart from left to right,
furrowed brow,
looking past the numbers
and letters that dictate my world
with the blackest of eyes.

I'm not sure what he remembers.
I failed to research
the obtuse wonders of the genius
that forgot to pay his dues to Einstein.

I'm looking at him right now,
and he is looking back;
watching retinas mend (from
blinking sunlight), seeing stars
behind a backlit sky.