Call Him Crazy

You see dirt man circling bags of shit and flies

Singing insanity and fling piss whip like a majorette swinging a baton

Wearing dirt suit, slime stupor and alleged bad choices manifested.

Could be crack, could be karma.

Lady tell your kids not to look his way or they’ll turn to stone

Or he’ll probably eat them with

monster teeth designed like broken piano keys

Vacant eyes wide as saucers

If one really paid attention, they’d see

But-a-man dressed in courage most envy

As they hold onto their drapetomania [dreams of freedom] til the only

Escape is their demise

He dances to his own private jam

In the middle of traffic, eyes shut to people laughing at him

He is the center of his galaxy, entertaining  gods and constellations

Escaping a reality that has him homeless, dirty, hungry, alone, and damaged.

Everyone else is crazy,

Rushing to unfulfilled lives,

Ignoring the voices in their heads that tell them they are special

That tell them to dance, laugh, wild out like happy-go-lucky children

Chained instead to a life that keeps them fat, unfulfilled, and far from their core.

Freedom is the lens that he sees through.

Settled into him like the staunch of rotting shoes.

No pill could take this away from him.

You see dirt man circling bags of shit and flies

Singing insanity and fling piss whip like a majorette swinging a baton

Blissfully happy. 

He is the envy of all who wish they had the courage

To be his kind of crazy.