I place more weight on my right than my left
And you place more weight on what’s wrong than what’s right

So we lean in opposite directions and the 
Beam between us quickens its velocity, like an arrow

Or a dart or a bullet leaving too fast off the mark
Twisting through air into pockets of stares from

People standing tall in the night and when you pick a fight
I’ll combine all my might with the way that judgement can stare

A hole like a scorch mark around your elementary eyelids
And when I first started to write poetry I did it because

I saw a collection and thought well I can do that but I’ve never looked
At you and thought well that I can do. And it’s true, too. If you understand 
That understatement of the century, thank you.