it’s not about the dirty laundry
or the origami
of us – the barely held together
creases and the
places we’ve broken, and broken
through. It’s not
even about the reality: that you
the cards. Okay, it’s a little bit
a little bit the cold hard fact that
me?) have never seen the movie
named on this
tiny folded ticket. And there are
two of them –
and apparently, two of you. So
out, it’s my golden ticket out.
Prompted by Poetic Asides.