November 18th, 2004

Moccasin eating spaghetti

(no subject)

And now, a really bad poem I wrote at Tuesday group some time ago (last week?). At least the subject appreciates it.

Rose

Her screams resonate in the dark hallway
as the plastic girl glares.
In the wee hours, she sprawls beneath a blanket
with her toothpick prince.
Rants and giggles spew forth from her lips
like a fountain
of too much information.
She rolls over in her naked glory,
finding a single purple hair
folded in the creases of her sheets.
Images flash through her mind,
a trio lunging in a wind tunnel,
desperately seeking coupons
for three-dollar lunches.

So many things to do today! Weeee! And tomorrow is field trip time! And stuff. I'm kind of out of it today. I go now.
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