He was selling postcards from a paper stand

a whiskey bottle in his withered hand

he put a finger on a photo from an old magazine

and saw himself in the shadow of his dream



They found him with his head inside a tin-pot crown

told him his feet stank and took him downtown

called him agitator, spy and thief

shut him up in solitary third degree

take a long line, reel him in



He tried to appeal to the king of might

he said