Philoxenic appetence
                                Misplaced
Disproportionate benevolence
                                               Dissipate
Myself: an object, given away
A transient drifter with always somewhere to stay


Exuberant sorrow ever-wishing to deject
                    Distortion
Deception duplicates
A heart burnt black
Focussed on the lacking, unable to bounce back


Mouths to feed
Needy hands grapple to extract
No fact needed
Smoky contortion
Inhaled greedily

Ready for the downfall
Open to the wind
Upward spirals shy away from the world they crave
Mischievous nymphs dance merrily on a stage,
Unmade
Then lay down to cradle their babes


Slaves to the slovenly
Behaviour of unrest
I know they’re trying hard but is it their best?
Sing a song of sixpence, your fingers in my pie
Life is not serious
We’re all destined to die
                 High.