The Birdcatcher's Return

Don't be embarassed, sit in the cross walk
He puts the viewfinder down
Just keep saying to yourself
"I can't get lost, I don't know where I am..."

Our famed birdcatcher
Is having a half zen moment in which he misses his parents
And needs to find his own cave, virtually, simultaneously
Well, here it is, packed and shelved incorrectly
He's been wearing more face paint than humanly possible
And well, he's enrolled in love the university
And dropped out of self indulgent sponge school 'cause
I think what's going on here is
He's questioning his divine bedness

"I can't get lost, I don't know where I am..."

There is no such thing as fantastical
But there is an imagination
But there are no blueprints for it
But he does have enough monies to buy water to sip...
And well, it's become painfully obvious
That catching birds may not be his visage of jesus
In the misshapen summer squash
But the first thing that popped into his misshapen summer head
"I can't get lost, I don't know where I am..."

Besides catching cigarette butts in his teeth
And fighting with swords is much more of a money maker
Or crowd pleaser anyhow, but that's ok
He's sitting in the soquel ave, n branciforte ave, mccormick st
Triple intersection to in fact be this point on the taurus
Remind me to see if that's feasible later
Remind me to see if that's feasible later
And cop this particular hunch
'Cause our dear boy is a dream catcher now, and glowing
Why even the mail woman to be named later noticed
Or wait an earth-raping minute, that was a pizza man
Not to mention the twelve or thirteen afterschool children
One of which had a trombone, and all of which found him funny
So the last bird he never caught
Got him a tony and cured his athlete's foot
To mystery and the boat docks
Where something else might strike me as circular
The middle