poetry from the disco of the stray alien

quirky thoughts creep
into the mind of smeep,
where they come from,
nobody knows,
where they go,
nobody follows.

singing in
the violent throes
of leaden woes,
making hot dogs from
fingers and toes

written while sitting with dave in the halls. it is only apparent to me now, after having told me this year, that he liked me ever since grade 09. i think it’s cos i was the only one who was entirely available to be empathetic 100% of the time. compassion>; ha! but seriously, i could never like him because he wasn’t my ideal. everything must conform to an ideal.

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last updated 08.07.97
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