LEAVE OUT

i don't know where to be for my friends.
my idea of "here" is stirred by a love for sent text.
flipped over by fifteen hours on the
brittle strip of nothing that skims past
the Flying Deer of the universe
who pretend to be standing on "ground"
while they drink from my headlights
and i cruise away screaming. 
my friends include someone who broke off in my guts
before my guts were grown, and i think about how
little i was and how little i knew him before
the day he broke dishes accidentally, trying to
help me get away from my entire life that he lived in. 
the span is an albatross of years.
not the kind around a neck,
the kind me as an elegant mouse can fly on.
can a child ride an eagle?
/can a child ride a dog dragon?
windows move.  earth moves
around windows that stay still.
i heard you yelling from that space between
that and that that a familiar man calls
"the slices of twilight pie on your tongue
though they escape you while you're still tasting the story you'll make up to see later instead".