A Strange Guy Poem by soren Barrett

He tangos on a tightrope, blows smoke rings in a hurricane
Smokes dope with the pope, tames the brain of the insane
Harvests a bushel of clouds, raindrops picked from their stems
His prayers gathered out of lathered old church hymns

He rides in a wheelchair that's broke, tires, deflated, had no spoke
Lacking hot air he had no spare, a little flat on the blown joke
Prophesies made off the label of an old jar of marmalade
Although worst, let someone else go first, to receive second aid