the drifter, that keeps  on drifting....

        
       
       
       
    once upon a time, one thought one wanted the ocean; though along the rowing, one learned the spoken word language-broken-wide open to be "poet";        
       
       
       
    under the bus very well one knows it; just another number paid one's tolls and rolled along through blows and spirit towing-they can have the ocean; found comfort in one's fish bowl with, space for spirit floating-just wanting to be left alone-hardly out for strolling....        
       
       
       
  outsiders are controlling....like we all weren't once tadpolling- now selling 4 leaf clovers; one prefers the leaves for smokers- or to be so far from sober....till the day that it's all over....