You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman



YOU ARE A POET and a linguist. And I am just another broken boy in love with the night sky. Lost, looking up, always. You are the poetry I can only attempt to write. I know that now. But you are also the phases of the moon, and I wax and wane with you as I lie on this rust-spangled tin roof, looking up still, in constant anticipation for the first sliver of borrowed light.