Performer

Years passed, unflattering
the face of the young man
you thought before you.

Years past - flattering
in the right light.

Today he observes an
imprint in the armchair
where he spends countless
hours musing then
neglecting a fruitful destiny.

He'll sigh indignantly -
he always does.

Minutes crawl by as
seconds march on,
soon, soon, soon,
genius will strike
like lightning.

Until then, comedy of
grotesque by the masters
of degenerative thought,
for the voyeurs of
blameless bystanding -
a beautifully obedient audience!

Obscenities fly like pigeons
into skyscraper windows.
Originality not unlike the
poor horse put to pasture
after being ridden too hard
by an undisciplined jockey.

He worries not -
he's found a new horse
to ride to the grave.

Opera of the amateur, the
pretentious provocateur
is neither powerful nor bold.

An aching yawn,
spasms of the bored
harmonizing with the
horrors echoing in the
half empty hall.

He screams a passive
sigh, and again -
contorting his face into
devilish shapes- tongues
lashing, teeth gnashing,
lips smacking feral and fierce.

By display's end,
depravity grew legs
and wandered away,
wounded, weeping.
He clasped his hands
and exhaled deeply.