Writing my Way out of a Paper Bag
I am writing my way
out of a paper bag,
a regular one,
about 12*7*17 using
mostly a stream-of
vomit-consciousness
from my
dream diaries,
or boring stuff
I heard in a
nail salon,
a little girl
telling her brother
he smelled like onions
and that same little
girl's mamma said to
the nail technician
that her daughter
was spoiled to the
finer things in life,
I am writing my
way out of a paper
bag, and I'm nearly
to the top,
so I'll finish by
telling you about
the high school bus
driver who never spoke
to me, even though
it was just her
& I for miles
miles
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