Misfits

I'm not a poet, not an artist
Not a preacher
But my own disillusionment-
I'm a bluffer and a liar;
And I float amidst fast-sinking living torsos
Of dead men;
Urging them to rise;
Pinching and scratching their
shriveled up thickened skins
With bare finger-nails;
Often thrashing their half sunken heads
With words, in my own desperation-
To make them see - what I do;
Or perhaps find a bunch of misfits
Who'd swim with me
Into the horizon