poet (jch -- 4/93)
there is no map
no guide
or roadsigns
to lead the restless
from this sea

in the corner
silent and drunk
talking to himself
philosophies of the old school
(People call him crazy.)
as the blues band plays
no understanding
just sadness
and madness
and we all cry out
“Listen to me!
Listen to me.”

You will never understand my intentions.

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