Eighth At Eight

Edit August 30, 2011 at 9:28am EIGHTH AT EIGHT Whilst walking when the southern wind changes in my direction and become nor-easters such as a festering infection I have not a choice but to go where my worn out shoes will take me Until I reach far enough south for the sun to bake me so people inquire why I don't drive a car and i tell them because were i to have one I'd drink after leaving a bar Panama Pete, the owner, knows straight vodka is all i ever drink and he knows how many I need to no longer think since drinking at eight A.M. only gets me in trouble with ladies or the law and please don't think that alcohol is my only flaw so I leave old Pete with his Panama hat's brim well worn until, more often than not, I awake on a stranger's lawn how I got there and why I am indifferent to and take my word for it I am different from you you probably have loved ones who care if you'd die i, however, could expire and not a soul on earth would cry no moans, no groans and no tears would be shed for only Panama Pete will miss me when I'm dead People I beat for dope will never forget how much they despise me and no tuxedo, three piece suit nor pin-stripes can disguise me i am what i am because of a detrimental mind and people can tell what i am even if they're blind So I rise from the stranger's lawn and keep on the run while walking and vying with the wind or the sun I am a walking and talking riddle and/or pun and will be so until this farce of my life is deliberately done (c) 2011...…~Phree!~ (Panama Pete is actually his name and owns or owned a seedy bar on eighth avenue and 46th Street in Manhattan. i haven't seen him in eleven years but ten to one says if I were to walk in he'd pour four and one on the house)