timwhalen.net

tribute to evolution

Jan
10

His head hung down from his shoulders
Bearing some immense weight
As if he wore an invisible head dress of lead feathers
He peered at me out of the corner of his eye,
His whiskey-charred voice gently sounded
A plea for help subtly transmitted
“Does anyone know what time it is?”
Time for the sun to rebel against the moon
Not to forget our friend,
With his head held high now,
As an officiating official
An arrogance of Hitler
And affability of Manson
In his eyes float disks of black,
Surrounded by razor-sharp rings of gray
He uses them to their best advantage
Living in a loose shell of wrinkled canvas
He struggles to break free of the gravity
That holds him wistfully to the ground
Time for the sun to rebel against the moon

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