Lies
in the days following his self identification
and his own edification
in the fictions
that may be bent upon the idiot world
he took his tongue out every night
and greased it up as faithfully as say
a mechanic might a favourite engine
and in the
chat chat chatter
precise and complex aerobatics
are dronning
wending like a fly
through your brittle lies
as any slobbering fan
one would have thought
must plainly see
and though i draw himself as a swinish drip
he was no coarse cad
Huffed up in a special way
pompous like a bow tie
but also svelte and charming
breaking out the poignancy and wit
like magic men pull rabbits from their sleeves
tall tales full with music and the wicked dancing
of the crepid, bitter peoples
of the Tarascan in Michocán
in the days following his self identification
and his own edification
he found that just beneath his
slick hair full of the lubrication of existentialism
as i've just delined
beneath the crown and the bone
about 2 or 3 centimetres below
he found a chemical hole
bleak and vacuuous and wanting
and realised it was Parkinsons
another twenty years and maybe they would have fixed it
but not if i was his medic
the neurons of balance just buggered off
leaving him on the bathroom floor
to be indignantly found by the maid
a little cut herself insinuates
maybe he'd had too much the night before
and as the dopamine dries
so the hands shake and slow
the courts no longer show
and to some extent shamed
pity chat pity
precise and complex aerobatics
are dronning
wending like a fly
through any sobbering fan
to be executed
maybe by lifes cruel blade