I’ve had a crush since 2006 on Tracyanne Campbell. I don’t think about her anymore. I wonder about Pop-Tarts in sick dogs & second stories in Woodstock, Georgia. Someone could say I have what you’ve always wanted. Someone isn’t me & I’ll share a stick if it isn’t you.
I swear to light in my feet. Facebook photos aren’t lost scenes. I ride an elevator to feel like a girl. Sometimes I’m sure that’s almost right. There isn’t silver in my hair, there is nothing planned about serendipity.
This includes you, & me. You & me. This includes memories, a circle of carpet I’ve puked on repeatedly, a hand I find on the cover of a book. I look at everything saying We’re so different. I light cigarettes behind storage houses because I don’t smoke.
To the Lighthouse