Like the sea that oversaturates the sand
billowing to and fro toward familiarity
foaming at the tips to return to normal
only normal was never the sea.
Like the projector that sticks on the same image
the archaic screen spotted with dust
the flipping of the film in the overexposed light
the frame of your face twitching and epileptic
into my eyes.
Like the stiletto that finds the flaw in the floor and sticks
dethroning the queen who parades into the room
cursing the floor for its audacity to be less than perfect
I remembered ten minutes after I saw you
why we shouldn’t be around each other.
I am your wicked little town.