A Straggler Runs Loose In My Mind

In the padded rooms that make up the illusion of sanity
Down the decaying hallways which connect doctors to pharmacies
And then hand delivered to the inmates on noisy carts
Through slots in the doors to the padded rooms where sanity lies
Waits a solitary, solemn, slippery son of a bitch
That keeps evading capture by the drones sent by ministers
Who control the entire neurological playground
Where we smoke cigarettes on our lunch breaks
And turn away from the very fears that drove us here
And can't keep us safe from that solemn, solitary, straggler
Who's running rampant through my mind
Or is this all a figment of my imagination
And my mind is really the world
And I am the straggler
Running loose
On the streets
Of New York...........

Tony Taylor (Chicago)