DaLing, DaLing, DaLing, DaLing
As I lay out on the warm wooden dock
Old Saint Joes crows fabricate a path of emotions upwelling
Sun’s rays prance along my shoulders in tune with the killjoy clock
The Fox whispers wisdom through the wooden panels that separate the two bodies
Little did I know, on that September day, there was little to be learned from this outrageously priced text with pages yet to be broken in, when compared to experience and growing up that year.
All my past, present, and future troubles and tears, flaws and fears, aspirations and anxieties
The Clock knew them all. The Fox knew them all, but to me unclear.
Somewhere between orientation and my final final exam of freshman year, through my social-butterfly-syndrome and college boys, the parties and the beer--
I, a lost sheep, was found on that dock in De Pere.