Crazy, I Know

he was scrawny
with a rubbery,
smart-alecky face
stuck at 15

he always wore a hat,
bit his nails and smoked
the minute we left class

he drank liberally
smoked too much weed
and didn't bathe

a stereotypical
tortured sort
with a twist of
too much light
to make him dark

as he read/rapped,
he looked my way
with eyes that
broke me bright

I felt he thought
I might be the
only one listening

he rhymed rich,
quirky and quick;
if you didn't stay with him
you'd miss the brilliance,
the nugget of the message
of the words
he was laying down

the night I read,
the poem that frightened me most,
his unexpected praise
made me feel kin
to the best kind of crazy

once he sent his poems to me;
the image of his lover so real
I felt awkward, as if I'd
stumbled in on them,
his funny face transformed
to one of worship

sometimes I try to find him;
search for a blog, a post or
a scrap of one of those
string of words that
knocked me out

I fear he may have vanished,
that all of his goodness
is gone from the world;
his mother the only one
besides me, who knows

crazy, I know