The Student (Shane Koyczan)
I don’t believe in them, but somewhere there are gods hiding inside of their own heads using all their might trying to stop their own eardrums from pounding out the sound of your name.
You are lightning trying to tame thunder, leaving split second scars against the sky as if you were breaking the skin of something that won’t die. My first instinct is the same as my second, strongly reinforced as if by a diamond sheeting that donated its glimmer to charity so that it could look dull and tough. A shine now scuffed, as if the world left a bruise on light.
I fight my instinct long enough to realize that I won’t win. I give in, surrendering to an impulse, somewhat believing that my imprisonment will not involve torture if I confess everything I know.
I know nothing. I bring an emptiness to your need, like a dog laying a skeleton at your feet, bone by bone. I lay stone all around you in a circle, as if at any moment you will burst into flame and warm us long enough so that I can tell you my ghost story, that a part of me still haunts my memory. It throws chairs against my mirrored mind, cracking the reflections in which I once thought I would find answers. If I reflect long enough, there will be answers, but like mail on Sunday none came.
So I sit before flowers, hoping they will train me in the art of opening up. I stand on mountain tops believing that avalanches will teach me to let go. I know nothing, but I am here to learn.