I cannot trust my mouth
to speak up for itself.
I has a tendency to run aground,
to reverse its way
down dead end alleyways
with its lights out,
smiling, eyes closed.

It just doesn't know what it's talking about.

When I'm silent,
I'm at least standing next to the real me,
in a que.
firesmadesafe.

Christ - have I joined the ranks of poetry writing web-loggers ? I think not - I'm not listening to Ash, nor am I shopping for shirts that cost me more than this mac, or throwing dinner parties. And this is NOT a diary! And I'm not a student. And I'm not certainly not beautiful or rich.

Roll[o].