written 1999

Misfits I know, burbling on an open day
Misfits below, sipping their cares away
Taken with targets and the one painted on me
Selling their bullets and buying the breeze
Madmen I’ve met, speaking of incoming flack
Madmen offset, ready to defend with jinny sack
Concerned with only saving the sugar supply
Dripping on the docks while digging them dry
Round and round without end
I am young in ways and means
And cannot contend
Three souls have I, sitting before me now
Three souls nearby, say only standing is allowed
Words of wisdom, words of fate
Tales from mice of tales first-rate
Yet as the dawn draws on drops from sight
The teaspoon drowns on sings its plight