My Friend

Avondale Kendja

credit: Hian Oliveira

Always

On new things

My friend, your brain cells do me outrace

That I cannot dream of catching the pace

So, out of bounds, you tear me my embrace

And leave me wafting in a cloud of

Your foot’s beat within my mind’s sound.

Seem we so mis—like—young trees planted

The old union—I—cannot be recanted

Along the same white paths. I therefore pant

Out for sympathy, but get no mind.

Stunted, the warmth simply goes underground.

And my soul burns—a throat caught fire

—It refuses to go down, so a pool of mire

So I also tend to drown, and so I tire

Sometimes. But I bet you’re too busy

To reach out and find what I found.

In the dust there were prints growing—here—faint

As I race to trace the outlines and—them—paint

Out an image of us, but—hiding there—a taint

That I can’t remove (being a part) under my best ability.

Your feet beat within my mind’s single sound.