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