Running from street lamp to street lamp
Creating worlds before the sun is born
I don’t sleep as well as I should
Out, wandering with my thoughts this morn
No need to remind me of my missteps
I remember every time I came up short
Angst & anxiety locked in perpetual duel
To discover who gets the final retort
Not to keep returning the subject to myself
But there are certain truths I must understand
I’m no one special, a mere footnote
A history to be written, though not as planned
Dreams & hopes that never came to be
A rakish poet nor grizzled old typesetter
Through the years & false daily realities
It is inexplicable the mundane became better
So I find myself with a specific freedom
To be able to move without any sort of cosmic retort
For I have faith in love, fate & ultimate grace
Allowed to live without any innate need to stop short
What are the chances
A statistical report
Falling in love
in retort
With the inmates running the asylum
The cavernous tunnels are cold & dank
It can be difficult to remember the faces
The ones who put you here, the ones to thank
But we’re not twiddling our thumbs at night
We’re sharpening our words for vengeful retort
You think we’re numbed & harmless fools
Our bunker: in the guise of a blanket fort
Captain Q 