i want to sit amongst the stars
silent, dissolving into space, a
still nothingness, a pair of eyes
and no more.

i want LA to absorb me like a sponge,
soaking my essence, throwing it
into the sink with all the other lost
young souls: we’re soapy watercolor
film.

i want to be an extra on a movie set,
watching in wonder as personality
after personality passes me by,
perfect and poised.

i want to dissipate into the foam
of johnny depp’s coffee, or drift
like the smoke from uma thurman’s
cigarette against her lips.

i want to be a fleeting ghost, a jane
doe in an undated photo by the
paparazzi, nameless and noir
in the grainy polaroid.

i want to be a shadow, the fragments
cast off of a shooting star - i want to
trail along until i fade.