On a bright and sunny afternoon with cumulus clouds
Deacon was finally so bombarded with information
That it filled his pock marked face ‘til it was smooth.
A force so strong all excess fat blew away (a whole new wardrobe)
Deacon became a fine-looking man.
That had been his biggest hope in life
He rejoiced beyond the meaning of words
His eyes and ears and mouth fulfilled
(if you’re thinking mannequin, I’ve fumbled)
He was every bit a living, fluid, joyous human being.
Achieved by these gods’ torrent of information
There was no source, nor need for output of any kind.
Deacon was perfectly filled in every way.
If you drink too much ambrosia you can always throw-up
He’d found perfection so would never be heard from again.