Last post for the day. I wrote this march 2004 and I found it in my blog because it came up when someone googled Naket girls or something. I can't belive I wrote this.

Sparatic sort a poem:

When adding faces to empty asses images may appear larger than proximity.
Thoughts too dense to be ever written down on toilet paper made of bamboo leaves.
Images too blue to be painted on an empty sky.
High as a kite.
High as a word junkie.
Ephedra rejects, coming out of pozac nightmares.
Uppers, downers, inbetween butt cheekers.
Lost in emotional anarchy, found in bullshit heaps of smiles and shitcrumps spilling over streets paved with water down lemonade.
This is poetry standing still, through motions only visibal in the churnning of bowels.
Intestant genius.
Paranoid judges who wear black thongs with white ties over the rims, under robes washed in used cooking grease.
Even worst, McDonald over used cooking grease.

The End I guess.

yeah I wrote that, was I on crack?