A Servant, I Know, Who Plots

by on August 4, 2021 :: 0 comments

I stand under no-one else’s umbrella
… I owe nothing to anyone,
except… point-blank Cold Shoulder.
I speak through hawk-plumage,
and in razors-so-sharp… you bleed,
internally, later
… when I have removed myself
far from ‘Suspect’ musical-chair.
I don’t ‘Wager’ I ‘Take’ and Leave
… ‘Vantage Points’ Trapped.
I say the word ‘Tangerine’ often,
it sickens me… but, it reassures,
fools of some childhood thing or other
… and disguises the Predator,
hiding behind that false colour,
shape, and texture… STRIKE!
‘Unbalance’ differs with onion-layers,
the surgery of Interest,
works better dressed in a uniform
of cold, almost theatrical Indifference.
I salute you, fake-sincerely
… a traceless smile within my
heart-that-pumps-nothing-but-piss…
as I lead you forward whilst following.

editors note:

Run for cover when you hear, “Tangerine!” – mh clay

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