James D. Casey IV

That lived under a tree
With an antisocial fragrance
Day drinker blues and
A walking stick
Made of old stale bread

He muttered words

That smelled bad
Behind a candy corn smile
In between sipping
On broken dream gumbo
And thick black death coffee

While pointing the way

With nicotine stained fingers
Twisted and gnarled by time
I made friends with the bird
That lived in his beard
A talkative little fellow
With better breath

I thanked them for their time

Shook both their hands
And I was on my way
With a completely different view
Of our evanescent world

When I finally made it home

I splashed my face with water
And looked into the mirror
Only to realize that man
Was me the whole time

Just talking to myself

In public