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Up there is a little cross-hatched sky And sun on my back; The quiet twitchings of the student body Sighs, holed up in secrecy, or Solidarity, or internment — or, jokingly, education — My eyes are caught on A pretty girl with bright hair, and I think she notices me — I smile, though still Your presence is there, predatory As the books, breathing on the walls. My thoughts are racing today; i can feel The layered masks peeling back. Soon i will look like a flayed rabbit And catching not just the bright eyes Of pretty girls, twitching IZ MAXWELL
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