There’s an escape planned
And not of my doing
Against my will and nagging
Things to do and places to go
More love to pass and more shagging

There’s an escape planned
And not of my liking
Three months, perhaps six I’m told
I’m still a child–at least in my head
I had planned to escape when I’m old

There’s an escape planned
And it’s too late to cancel
Seems like I’d just started to begin
Things to do and people to love
I’ve lived so tight in my skin

-from “…Hereness”

Fleeval Friquosy arrived one day
From a mountain forest green
At first he seemed to some real nice
To others he seemed mean

His head was big and round-ish
His nose was pointy curved
His chin was like a ski slope
That went downward then it swerved

His neck was thick and trunk-ish
His chest just like a bull
His belly button sunk-ish
In a waistline fat and full

His knees were strong but knobby
His ankles big like trees
His feet were flat and froggy
And the hairs on them had fleas

So the people of the town all turned
Their backs as he walked by
The dogs would growl and bark at him
And little kids would cry

But then one day he stopped and sat
And sang a lovely tune
An angel’s voice came out from him
And he sang past afternoon

The people turned and smiled his way
And started singing too
The dogs sat down and children danced
As by some angels flew

And like a choir in heaven might
Their singing filled the skies
The valley town, it shined like gold
As they said good-nights, good-byes

Then Fleeval took his roundish head
And curvy sloping nose
And to the mountain he returned
With his froggy feet and toes
But all the folks who judged him bad
Each kid and mom and dad
Will remember Fleeval Fiquosy
And the day he made them glad!

- Dallas Gatlin 2007

I live today in Usufruct
A town not far from you
Amazing graceful streets unwind
To the “Square of Redbrick Hue”

I love to walk in Usufruct
The sounds are sweet to hear
A wretched man strolls in the square
So lost but somehow near

I found a man in Usufruct
A wretched blind man he
His sight returned in Usufruct
The blind man’s name was me

- from “70 Sticks”

He looked quite lonely when
He first showed up at the corner
Of Broad Street and Peal
A tattered shirt over
Khaki pants
But he was focused, head down
Paying attention only to his small world
As he lifted a door held by rusty hinges
And covered with stickers
“Popcorn for Sale” read a hand-painted sign he leaned
Against the wheels of his mobile life
“Seventy Cents per Bag” were the only words
I ever heard him say before he silently made change
And then one day his cart was missing
And so was he – and I only now know
How much he meant
To this corner

Yesterday I drew a blank
It was easy
Not much pencil lead was used