Andrew's Gear

Andrew wears flannel wraps for shoes

And his feet sloshes through the streets

Whereupon the night rain is pouring down

Neck bent the man is very far from foppish

And his slender frame drifts down stream

He travels athwart only down not sideways

Past gutters steaming from the hot sewage

Andrew knows roads to his place of refuse

And he understands which rot dominates

The pitch dark corners only he knows

Intimately for his place of consolation

Quiet coves unseen set in the tapping of

Little streams of unknown content drizzling

Andrew loves each of his rusty cans here

Adoring how each of his garments are torn

Andrew does not 'just' want anything at all

He wants things and he wants them straight

And really without little tales or songs

He ties cotton string to an old broomstick

Pretending to enjoy basically the same fish

As those who buy them upside in the stores

Andrew frankly does not give one blimey bit

For the platonic wants of his fellow man

He needs to be dogmatic and pragmatic

He does not even try to sell you silly charms

He goes to sleep at the end of his own days

Sees the smell of stagnation to be comforting

Andrew is a sincere chap who loves sun downs

For it heralds the fact that he may go outside

And hopefully it also rains so that he may enjoy

Not 'just' to do anything but to get lost in it

Because just as Andrew becomes verily invisible

He also escapes out of these man made doors

Andrew once upon a time was forced to adhere to

But now he walks freely alongside pavement roads

With his makeshift shoes wrapped around his feet

Hoping and praying for the heavens to open up

So that he could hear his feet slapping on the street

Each step being a slosh sounding like nothing is 'just'

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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