Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole (this line from Marlowe)

bring him down from his high place

with his twisted face


tear down his gilded pedestal

slap him to the present

turn him to face the mirror


fill his pipe dreams with

actuality, verity, corporeality

smash them, shatter them

wake him from this monomaniacal mindset

Be him Humpty Dumpty

wake him from himself

split in two

words spewing from two faces

One a mask, one a child

one a demon running wild

eating from within

consumed and covered by mocking

self importance high and mighty

versing the ways of love

from a decrepit cauldron

This entry was published on August 3, 2017 at 8:37 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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