That sad day when she had no will of her own.
A birthday cake pop-up,
but wearing a mask, wearing a TRUE mask,
troubled in a bikini.
Try screaming louder.
A $700 an hour who?
Leave the earth, after cocaine.
Delete, delete, break your silence.
Flash, flash, she should flash her midriff.
Leather pants, still single, why so sad, why so serious?
An illusion that will not die.
Cozy, cozy, after a terrible fall.
Rent, rent, rent, the world has changed.
One hour before his death,
still no will for the one who raised the bar.
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A big thank you to Mad Swirl, the maddest pub of all, for having included
this piece in the July issue. As I watch the rain swirling on and off my front porch,
I am reminded that the rush and surge of the swirling sends powerful feelings, not
only during a thunderstorm, but upon the digital page. Kudos and much gratitude to you all!
Always Yours In Madness,
Linda Imbler