In a small town you're either
a step away from paradise
or without many ways to go.

You know a shorthand to
clockwork.

You're a smooth denominator from
the Boondocks backwater and
an architect to nature.

But don't let them judge you to
be another Chaplin in a tramp
suit.

And don't foil with shirking postures
in their stampede.

Emanate like the many meant latent
and croon another view.

And when you're set up for failure,
show them what it means when they
fit in the squeeze.

Mise en Scene.

Scott J. Shepard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/caste-3/