by COREY MESLER
I email you though you are only in
the next room. You are the
movie star with the bush baby eyes.
You answer as if you cannot
imagine who I am. I cannot imagine
who I am, not here with the TV
on too loud. I send another message
hoping to win you. You have
your agent write back. It goes on
like this until I turn into a recluse,
with a drawer full of impossible novels.
