hello, my brother gemini.
your postcard in my letterbox
has a sullen shade of brown that bothers me.
all words discreet, they spell of little new.
should I assume no change has entered you?
although I see you no longer have a beard
your eyes still show the dark voice of your chin
reeling in all flowers of the flesh you hold within.
is disorder still the order of your days?
it was the many waves of petulance you swam
through the thinnest slice of ham
that dragged you to the casket of despair.
you have dyed your hair. it is black. it is obscene.
you look well enough to die, that pleases me!
my bitterness still haunts each step you take.
I am now a self-obsessed bionic plague
a germ with metal plates in a paupers grave
still whistling my diesel-tunes
each merry month of may
where my hermit crab
comes dressed as Salvador
and paints my room
in memory of you
my very own
black paws of kangaroo.