came wildly across the sands with wide fangs that hang and sway in summer's wind still caressing every sweet word that drops out of your mouth, splashing in puddles around you while all the kids in this town accuse you of drooling but they’re just fools and you won’t be taken advantage of. not again, swimming softly thru the snow of the casino boardwalk 1930 asbury park my love we kissed under the lamp the fog rolled in it swallowed us whole we tried to go inside but all the doors were locked she locked you out travis your mum locked you out and an old woman named nan found you and wrapped you in blankets to stop the pneumonia from creeping in your nose and down your throat straight to your lungs “oh you poor cold boy” your lips were blue she slept in the same bed as you and when you woke up you didn’t know your name anymore. you didn’t know HIS name either but you remembered his face. blonde hair, soft lips you remembered his chest and his raggedy brown coat. his black shoes. sea-shell smell. nan woke you up she said you were a good little boy and you did not speak. she kept you in the bed, your legs were sore, you couldn’t stand, nan told you stories and often spoke of short men who like power. after a week you could walk to the stairs but you wouldn’t go down; from the top of the landing you could see his face in the window of the front door one thursday morning, he didn’t see you so you hid from him and he went away “who is that boy nan?”

“he’s the milk boy” tristen the milk boy, on his way to school, oily hands and onion breath not as sad as he used to be. she named you ian, which wasn’t your name and you knew it too but hadn’t any other word to take its place. the dreams came, she scratched your back again it was dark outside and the milkboy kissed you on the cheeks. you kissed another boy. in your dreams you are travis and HE is tristen in your dreams its 1930 and you are so rich and he is dirt poor but why are you the run away and he the farmboy running milk through the busy district with shoe laces untied and mind on just one thing: YOU. he was dedicated to you, he was nothing but worried for you, amnesiac, travis, ghost boy, flowers in your hair and eyes beautiful daises and roses and tulips and fruit hanging around you. tristen has a cough, you pull on his fingers and he laughs. you draw the outlines of coins in the sand with your toes. the circles on the bottom of your shoe that left their prints in the muddy front yard.