AWOL
from the guardians of dementia,
he tours the city park again
dressed only in his skins
Needs a walker,
staggers slightly off the path,
manly gems swinging free,
one below the other
Rips his angst in methane clouds,
chomps long thick cigars,
clears his throat of blackened muck,
hocks it where it hits
Well basically, fuck em’,
soccer moms in SUV’s;
let them honk and hoot,
report him to the cops
He’s found the freedom
to walk in his own way,
make wee under dogwoods,
curse old gods and let ’em go