Princess Mad Dog vainly expressed
the randomness of Truth, the blackness of Hell,
and Art as dark as the night.
Her audience was a dancing dog,
two finches searching for cheerios under the benches and a
drunk that might as well have been named Douche-bag.
She lived up to her appellation with her mismatched eyes of
brown and blue, a tiara perched in a nest of frazzled hair and a
powder-pink taffeta dress.
Her princessdom was the Park with its assortment of itinerants,
dog-walkers and the Dance/Meditation group du jour who were
building her a castle in the meadow.
While two runners with numbers on their shirts ducked into the
men’s room before running off on their unknown and somewhat
lackadaisical marathon.
--PurpleMark 080611
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