I love the crazy girls.
They are more alive than giant
crocodiles.
They possess levels of depth
that un furrow
Like blooming flowers of impulse.
Their words like throwing knives
non-sequential ideas that
entangle themselves
In vines of truth
And they area all mad
Really.
At least all the ones I’ve known.

If the entire universe was
careening to a halt,
and I could save but one thing
from oblivion
It would be the crazy girls.
I’d save them just for me
I’d keep them and I‘d
watch them
and listen to them
and hold them tight.
I would never point out the illogic
of their assertions.
Only pull them close in
when they cried
And kiss their mouths when they
laughed.
It would be just me
and all the crazy girls
all alone
in a perfect universe.