It's strange, I've always lived near water, but
I've never been on a wave-striding ship;
Never traveled on the char-belching train,
Nor to a metro ever descended.
I've flown twice, both times were quite unpleasant.
I did ride the bus once on a late night.

My own quandary of opportunity:
In some ways too much, others not enough.
Born into a lens both close and remote,
An existence both strange and typical,
A small life of idiosyncracies
Spinning on the fringe of a family,

Abiding in the shell of employment,
And scuttling among intimate sands
Which only a temporary few see.
Individuated yet standardized.
Delivered to concrete nurseries sat
On top of systems of gray tumuli.

The cloistered taste of a car ride to work,
The connectivity that bores straight through 
Hearts of peoples, a cavern of fogged glass
Hazing infinite personal corners.
A secret trend of water which becomes
Grinding dust piling in obscurity.

Everyone's. Intimate universals.
I don't think it's hell anymore, but he...
And it's only because of him I don't.
He needs an assurance that I can't give,
A worth assessment I'm unqualified
To draft. Appraisals all proffered in vain.

The art of life hides in single vignettes,
In cringe-inducing squeaks of affection
Only one other is allowed to hear;
Which circumstances set the scene for that:
The way his eyes touch me across the room,
Two dorks who somehow found each other's life.

He begs me, how will I recreate him
When he succumbs at last to hopelessness;
How can I fashion his desire's likeness,
How characterize his need for purpose,
His sketching hands working wood waywardly,
His eye that shutters on rainbow fabrics;

I hope someday he comes around, accepts 
Life as we could be sharing it right now.
He could unfold into so many sparks.
Rather than smoldering rage from the past,
He can rekindle brilliant burning tears
Dropped from a point-of-view only he knows.

Our problem lies in our experience.
What secret language is ours to convey
Nebulous commonalities distilled,
The nighttime jokes incomprehensible,
But in our bed makes laughter reign supreme.
Bike helmet with inverted cyclist crest.

If everyone has something they could share,
Is the key not in how these looks are framed?
We thirst for novelty of perspective;
What's something only we'd know of?
Did you ever hear the one about the
Famous Satanist? He Thelema dick.