|





|

| real |
 |
He came to town with a guitar, |
| lightning quick wit, and hair |
| down around his shoulders. |
| I voted 2000 |
| 14 different voices |
 |
| telling 14 different |
| stories about politics, |
| elections, and America. |
| my stupid childhood |
 |
After a while everything becomes |
| boring and you want something new. |
| My new thing was a pair of skates. |
| giving thanks |
| This thanksgiving |
 |
| I'm thankful for |
| love, support, and |
| blueberry jam. |
| star wars memories |
 |
The lights go down and I'm |
| laughing at the pure joy of |
| seeing giant yellow words |
| scroll up the screen. |
| resolutions |
 |
| It always seemed so far away, |
| but here we are in 1999. |
| strange beds |
 |
The daily imprint of |
| a body and its scent |
| never quite disappears. |
| c r u m b l e |
| There was never any |
 |
| doubt about what Cali |
| was going to do. |
| recklessness |
 |
I put my ear down |
| on the rail to check |
| for vibrations. |
| t a i l l i g h t s |
| I made small talk and |
 |
| watched as the cars |
| blurred by. Eventually I |
| worked up the courage. |
| meeting peter again |
 |
Maybe it was the gentle rain |
| that made him so reserved. |
| Maybe it was the stress. |
| Or maybe it was me. |
| meeting peter |
| If it's just an innocent |
 |
| little flirtation, why |
| do I feel so guilty |
| when he catches me? |
| celebrating mom |
 |
That day, torn from |
| my history, has never |
| made me stop and |
| think. Until now. |
| g h o s t s |
| They were subtle, |
 |
| mental, hidden. |
| It was their house. |
| t o u c h e d |
 |
The fact that |
| I don't remember |
| the first time |
| still unnerves me. |
| disposable lives |
| How many names |
 |
| do you have? |
| Most people have two, |
| maybe three. |
| Not so for me. |
| burning the man |
 |
| At Burning Man |
| there are no |
| observers ... |
| only participants. |
|