Quiet slip the crazy ones that are safely disappearing down to the place that I love that they're expressing yet no-body's reality doesn't seem to be some part in boxes, the one whose hair color changed the weather and had duct tape all over no one looks of the one girl in elementary school that existed the crap out of me, then smashed quietly creefree. I think she had a crush on me. House was the ultimate rebel sexpot. She to carry on sooty, cynical. But then in the quiet ploring me one day and we haven't spoken since. Found a slice or normality in this. Conversations, but of frivolous nothing became of it & I was the talk that encountered this girl who earthly posses fanatic liked telling everyone she had her past life as a wallaby. How rude, the girl from the newspaper. She never hid secrets, always a woman yet she was a year I should show while we've seen each other rarely that was. But I don't other by phone and email. She ran away. Her last story was to be published. I pass by the to carry on
I know this poem sounds slightly schizophrenic, but it's actually an experiment in a new way to write. If you're curious about the experiment, just ask.