muse

mad as in crazy as in fox wanders down like hercule poirot with her diner parties and generation voices for house guests but stops a minute here and there to tell me this or that about her day and I fall face first into watching with inner eye-lids the way she spreads a rug out on a floor and up like reflux come the words and it canít be helped it canít be helped most of the time some of the time all the time once upon a time and often itís her fault.
Sheís accept the blame, which is nice.


2004-10-22 | 6:28 p.m.
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