Someone once told me
That sinners can repent
But stupid is forever.
But I have always wondered
Which he thought I was.
I drift through life, aimlessly and aimfully.
A quail that does not know where he is going
But knows he must cross the street for something.
And I realize that all this birthday means is that
I have made it for two and a score years now
Without drinking anything out a bottle
That is decorated with a skull.
Is that a source of pride? Maybe luck since
I’ve never been too careful about things
That come out of bottles, skull or no skull
They say god loves fools, children and drunks,
That he, or she perhaps, loves crazy people
(Look at how many of us there are!)
So perhaps I am suffering from an overflow
Of divine good will, maybe the universe,
The prime mover loves me too much and that is
My problem, my source, my cause.
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