the world has no place
for us anti-social anti-socials
—misfits who don’t fit in even with those
of our ilk who don’t fit in
we fall through the cracks
blame it on society
society has failed us
borderline rio grande psychotics
those whose only friends
inhabit round dark brown bottles
and live at addresses like 80 proof street
or further uptown like 100 proof street
or in minds that are locked away
behind doors of chipped paint and splintered wood
that have no keyhole--no keys
sharp broken glass ringing the walls
behind them—laying on the unswept floor
where no broom dares to sweep
lay on the bed and weep
the grim reaper is on the creep
