standing in line
for mail
at the homeless shelter downtown
get a stamp…or
two?
letters
that fill her hand she’s writing
to the FBI
writing to the CIA
the DEA  
perhaps the NSA
wonder
what she wrote?

some days
she tells
of shadow people who plot
and scheme
she hides from
ghosts
and their attacks
they track her
she hides
inside a dream
or more accurately, constant nightmare.

she talks to people in the air
rambled words
furtive glances
she listens  
what are the words that are being said
but then
who cares
no one knows those words
just Crazy Mary.