James D. Casey IV

Talking to Myself in Public

I once was lost
But met someone that
Showed me the right path
Even if it was left

A thought provoking madman

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

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