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you
long dead

eyes gleaming
flint
steel so clever

or at least
that's what I pretend

what do you think? what do you think of my scratchings
in the dirt
my slivers of glass that
stab my fingers
so insistently

splinters
the worst, they are the
worst

and yet

you will smile
or frown maybe

something, though, I think
there would definitely
be something

I began
and then I stopped
so unprepared
for the bonechill
of your frothy humanity
warm-pie precision
a constant
confusion
paper torn
halfway down
is it one
or two?

I think you know,
don't you?

I want to know
so badly
what you might
think

would you laugh
at my sleepy
little
eyes
and my
crooked little fingers
stumbling insistently?

a poor student
naked in the heat
scrounging around for something to honor you with
and finding
uncertainty
as well as warmth