Hit and Run
In the brain of a maniac
There lives a small child
Soiled and hungry
With a die and jack
And a thimble that rumbles
He left his leg in Seattle
On a bridge in the rain
Down low on the mainstream
Down low in the water
Swings a rope made of hemp
And twigs for a ladder
The place it must seem
Is for a murders row
But he’s harmed no one
Not even himself
The days go by
And they fade into dark
Murky and scary
Filled with lizards and larks
And a muddy old watch
Time is of the essence
As he boils his roots
Of sassafras and basil
And slips off his boots
Found on the subway
He only needs one
Because he left his left leg in Seattle
After being a hit and run.
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