Sometimes, our personalities
Are borderline – when we come close to fate’s folly
Only to erect barbed wired fences
And mammoth walls, where in that boundary
Bedlam or cuckooville is simply
A gaze over palisades and partition wire
When we become border patrol agents
Stopping packed mules from crossing through
When that fence between Mexico and Texas
Holds the mind in its place
After all, there’s an infinite number
Of dance steps to absolute freedom
And no floor to dance on.