BREAKROCK

Darling head is serving breakfast,
I am dying in idiot beds,
The nurse is drawing up the needle,
I find in me my father's mind.

In white T-shirt and baseball cap,
I shape the moon's underling,
Feathered stations tackle bread,
The squawking geese pick my dead brain.

And I am lost and disobeyed,
Empty and abandoned by man,
All my nerves and thoughts are frayed,
My head is dancing the can can.

I write this crap I don't know why,
It's all connected to the sky,
But a man must have something to say,
Enduring on earth his brief stay.