Foolhardy Street


The word ‘madness’ is all around.  It targets me like a circus clown!  Since I was little all I have done is run…Makeshift homes, pretend dark alleys, trails blazed by those of a similar pair of genes.  Hence, I find myself, right in the middle of Ma and Pa’s frantic, mysterious, magical, machine.

Jesus, did I try to out run it!

Still, there is a sister…plain and insane.

A brother…annoyed by anger.  Easily prompted to vulgar refrain.

Sober!  I’ve managed to get off the ‘all soul’s train.’


I am not manic.

Nor, depressed.

Neither the white or the black sheep.

I am just a poetic lesbian, living up North of Foolhardy Street.

Hangin’ on by bare thread of bare tire…hoping sanity and I,


will once meet.


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