The automaton goes stumbling on
it’s single minded path
so hesitant it seems that it
must be alive but in the aftermath
the wreckage will reveal it
just bamboo sailcloth and twine
don’t pity the automaton
but I confess I’d love to make it mine
The drunken ambling anonym
describes his random walk
I suffer flashbacks of Lord Jim
inscribing it in chalk
and there’s so little I recall
of those long expired days
my own path has had so many
minds to talk it’s plumb astray
I envy the automaton
it’s empty single mind
while I transcribe this circle
and the dreams are dying on the vine
I’m far from the right attitude
I’m just like all the rest
I can’t figure for the life of me
if I failed or just
forgot to take the test
what
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