Lived without jury or review til made present,
the subject, a person, whose past makes future dread.
Subsists against years’ attrition evolved from habit
to sincere; customs of a certain gore line
with poor currency accounts made
in bed- in debt to all he’s paid and more.
All’s speculated but his name. Seen as vile,
not with fear, but feared all the same.
Imagine! The impious twit:
Gums licked clean of once fresh meat so bone’s yellow gleams
a veneer of resign and defeat, masking talent
in the same sheets of tobacco and acid upon his teeth.
The old wretch, fleshened barstool and jacket -
Never so inert a man, impotent in all but the fact,
dare inspire, as a last virile act: to inspect
the echo for sight of the misfortunate life before he got fat.
Nothing now to give for love once deserved;
Dreams made life by hope and ambition turned
waste- of all beauty sucked in his lips only left exists an aftertaste
like the stink on pavement of the finest spirits pissed on streets.
Promise made meat spoiled; a chancre on the tongue. The lung
of a pig ribbed in this man, whose
cancer breathes for him; whose
pores perspire of gin; who
perhaps has scant years left but for all purpose is done.