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.
