'NEO-MISANTHROPE BLUES' I see you drifting; Drifting away. Far away. I'm moving away from you; Still standing firm On my slice of driftwood. Am I one for groups? I'm not follower, nor leader. Am I one to 'belong'? I'm not always comfortable Revealing the full contents Of my overcharged mind. I'm content this must be so. But at the same time? Truly devastated. Do I belong elsewhere, now? A dilettante Diogenes In a cabin made of driftwood?