Moment

"You're strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
Based on the body language and shorty cursive
I've been reading." -Jason Mraz

I am getting out of the Echo miraculously early; to think of it is quite astonishing. It was an 11 p.m. night, I never have those, I suppose the more one knows the easier it gets. I suppose the more one builds thick skin around overly direct people and surrounds herself with people who foster learning, it becomes more efficient --- or maybe it was just a good week. So I contemplate what to do with myself to waste the moments because God forbid that I'm given adequate time to sleep. So, I, the broke college student, buy myself a ridiculously expensive Odwalla drink, it is the most delicious thing I've ever had.

When smart college students, somewhere between the teen years and adulthood, get sick, it is almost adorable. They are away from home; but they are men, so esteemed and eloquent, yet still vulnerable to the virus like the elderly and young -- and they're away from home.

Through exasperation and fatigue, my heart still smiles easily. The momentary moments that don't mean anything but are impossible to catch... they make everything good.
Putting my poem on here before Blevins and classmates tear it to pieces tomorrow. It seems clear to me but it is me I'm speaking about.

-----
Longing

You dare stand out whiter than the white chalk on that blackboard piquing my curiosity.
You don’t see the pitch black of your arms from afar--- darker than
the shadow that overwhelms the naïve light’s ability to run from it.

The footsteps clap, clap: snap, snap against right direction.

Then your swagger overwhelms my inhibitions and intelligence.
I am the dreaded eraser clearing away the equinox letting whiteness fade into grayness
And the grayness into dust
And the dust into a questionable hallucination that nothing created this accumulation of the
air’s remaining molecules of ungraspable dust.

I trace back and let the dust polish and pray the equinox lasts longer than mere seconds so I could ghastly swoon to Norah Jones’ “come away with me through the night.”

At the equinox, where I see the white strands before they bleed to night
Or are erased by the day’s hurry,
I take a breath and breathe in
at that moment
at that place
To yearn for the taste of the phallic confection and
devour it through my lungs
to let the admired scar be for always

Hence, the bulwark knows to render whenever the wind hits my spot
on these dusty black nights,
soft like the sweat of that swagger

I devour baby pink starbursts on these dusty white nights when Norah Jones sings in these present day songs about the one she wrote
of the dusty white chalk’s fizzing disappearance
as the equinox turns to white.