there is a strange boy
just across from me
and if the universe was titled the other
the stars would fall drunkenly in our laps
and then drip out of our too-small reach,
their dying tails in my grey sweater and his wrinkled shirts.
i think there is something fundamentally wrong
with this boy
that he has some psychotic dark mental ticking,
a too-tight clock in his head.
anti-social personality disorder?
it is rude to ask, especially with coffee smells hung around us
like christmas lights
but he is always alone.
and i wonder