I keep thinking about you,
I keep thinking about your country...
I do not think of myself as
a poet anymore though...
I no longer want you to ask me,
to expand my horizons...
On the trip to Poland,
I met a boy from Afghanistan...
As I whipped some mayonaise
on to a loaf of bread...
I'll always remember
you,with those...
Maybe because you
were the first person...
I could say
my guts brought me here...
You always seem to
linger in my thoughts at...
Maria reminds me of my mother,
but maria is nothing like her...
Even on my best days
it still finds me...
At the surface of
your being I am...