crossing the pacific. i swear ive met requirements. meeting her in sumner. in a summer that never happened. a petrified rock that stops the moment lands on yellow signs and solid white lines hilltops in brunswick and blinking red lights to a mourning approach. a sharp reflection on your throat
[her smile would make a beautiful torch.]
myself leads heir to a nylon thread. i swear to her im dead. phone calls and telegrams from sumner. this is the girl ive never met.

-karl.