I see him,
Laughing at the
Breaking of his thought pattern,
Which was bent toward loneliness.
The bliss of finding a friend
Who ends his sentences before he finishes,
Is an undiminished delight.
He fights back tears of joy.
What a boy toy he is,
With his tattoos and new shoes
Never worn,
But patterned after an English Earl.
Suede blue,
Like the ones Elvis sang about,
Before he left the building.
I swing past
And bring him the news.
He refuses to abuse himself with
The wish the stars would shine again,
Or pretend to grow.
And show some small
Token of light.
To fill the night sky
Rather than die a
Sure and certain death.
They're not explored by
NASA or Wawa or
Any other alphabet letters.
Better to be a shiny star
High in the sky
Than to get close to humans.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem