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Crazy Me On A Bus Ride

Do they exist?
Because I didn't exist to them until I stepped on the bus.
I won't exist after I step off;
I'll be a short image
they might have not even noticed or acknowledged.

I feel like
I can't touch people;
we're in a small space
and everyone seems universes away.

Just flashes or pictures of people
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Stewart Green 22 August 2008

I savored the picture painted in my mind by your words. Very good.

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