yet, ln(ten)Monday, October 27, 2008
at 9:09 PM;
seventeen years in the grey city,
and old friends' shadows lengthen.
many nights now has a boy curled up
in the warmth of his old blanket
wishing for an unfamiliar hug
he may never feel (again)
he was the early bird;
first helping
for the cat.
now second-hand good,
and there is no buyer.
if he had a hood he'd put it up,
but this is not Detroit,
and he is no artist;
just another kid in angst,
trying to prove that
he is not rebounding,
that he really loves you,
that he wishes you'd care.
hello is not a word,
no.
it is the cry of his heart.
the rest is silence;
