There must be some kinda way outta here

Do you ever get that feeling --
that even though you've landed in Paradise,
the island of your dreams,
you're stuck in a bear suit,
dressed for the forest
and unequipped for sailing,
doomed --
having dressed inappropriately
for this particular life --
to sit on an upturned bucket
(there are no chairs here,
no appropriate resting place
designed for humans of your sort);
doomed
to keep re-dialing information,
seeking some way --
any kind of way --
back to the shore;
or, at the very least,
a way to lose the costume
and get real?


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