A Liminal Figure

I am a liminal figure, my friend,

and have been, since I divided my communion,

Breaking bread with the quiet crowd

and drinking with the loud.

Bread was not all that was broken; so were your boxes,

The lines of your calendars, the face of your clockses,

and the expectation that people give up when they quit,

Are deterred by getting insulted or hit,

Or that they hate a place the most when they get fired from it.

I'll tow the party line about as far as you can spit.

Then I'll pick it up and twist it, maybe skip some rope with it,

'Cause I don't play well with others, follow or fit.