all our sacuers have broke in this
little rocket home, where we sleep like full-grown ghosts of twelve-year-
olds.  and i'm waiting on you, Love.  i got my heart all set up, like a tug
boat toy i drag along.  a tug boat toy i drag along.  last night when i
undressed, i drew a lighthouse on my chest, and said a prayer for it, by
morning to have sunk in.  and for a place we could talk, some stoop or
some parking lot with a couple cinder blocks to sit on.  your handwriting is
an even mix of your parents' influence.  i hope i see it again.  so i wait on
the porch, hold this memory up like a torch.  and i think of a friend, draft a
letter in my head.  and her image clings like a cast to heal some fractured
past.  to heal my past.  to heal my past.  your handwriting is an even mix of
your parents' influence.  i hope i see it again.