The beat of a drum,
the ache of a bone,
the nerve in a lymph node,
and a wisp of a hum.
I am a bum
on the side of a road,
hopelessly in love
with a lifeless toad.
Waiting for that kiss
I dare not miss,
for it will tear out
the very arteries
of a pumping vessel
inside a dove,
which no longer flutters away.
Yet here comes the river dance,
which trembles in my threshold.
Making tigers prance,
while bums like me mold,
and rust, and are frequently
looked at like we’re a bust,
but the only thing around here
that is in need of busting
is my schizophrenic neighbor
across the road who keeps
steeling my daily musts.
There was once upon a time
I had a calling.
It left my whole world squalling.