Canned Biff

I know a man, we'll call him "Biff"
an independant soul is he.
He roams the less traveled paths
and beds down under a tree.

He's not afraid to speak his mind
or pray on bended knee.

He'll search for just the perfect words
leaving you not much to say.
Eating as little as the birds
wearing clothes in the style of  "fray".

Aluminum cans and copper
are his quest from day to day.

Sensitive in nature
yet pragmatic in his thoughts,
The desert breeze puts on the squeeze,
tying most mens souls in knots. 

With weather, his lone companion,
he connects the dots to dots.

He has no need for protocol,
his itenerary's few;
some days, time beats for him, alone...
leaving him, not much to do.

But, mostly he's a servant
to his jaded point of view.

You probably won't notice him
as he roams from place to place;
his gaze evades judgemental eyes,
but, he'll look you in your face...

...and give you your own flowers,
he picked, and arranged in your own vase.

Not necessarily a loner,
but, always living on the go,
the wealth he owns is measured not...
...in increments you'd know.

For he is free of most the chains
that binds the status quo.