Embedded in a crumbling boulder <br />or sniffed as air released from some <br />mouldy cellar; that's how he <br />wished to arrive in the conscious <br />thoughts of those who thought <br />they knew him. He regarded Them <br />as the invaders while he viewed himself, <br />(as far as that was possible) <br />as cracked open; fully formed <br />and normal from day one. <br />So it was he never met a stranger - <br />for he felt he'd always known <br />everyone; saw words as they formed <br />on lips, saw words as they lay curled <br />in brain. Always smiled before he spoke, <br />provoking those who did not know him <br />(though he knew what they would say) <br />to say he was a strange boy. <br />How could they tell? Had they cracked too <br />from boulders or in the whiff of dank cellars? <br />And he went on knowing, never showing <br />how he knew.<br /><br />James Mills<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/arriving/
