A world filled with

wet paint ain't a

place to rest my face

no fake-up, no make-up

test to prove, you lose

the grade is dead not

staying ahead said

the man, the teacher

a creature feature

but a master, a wall

an end all crawl

through chapter five

I'm barely alive

and breathing, my

back is heaving, because

my books, my looks

are spineless, yellowed

an odd fellow mellowed

by times, and rhymes

that moved on, a pawn

a spawn of giants

not a shoulder stepper

a leper, a fake, a

faux show, no-go

no flow because

he forgot history,

a mystery of dates

and rates, slices

of price, the rice

road, the mode

was set, Ka-Tet

he said, but he followed anyway

he hay-day, a may-day

of flowers and towers

relentless, scentless in

the desert, under mountain

a fountain, of youth, truth

a Ponce De Leon, now gone,

a swamp romp gone bad

with hysteria, malaria fever

a lever big enough to move

the world, so sad

a mad fad

Sinbad with a box

of sound, Kazaam, the

man's left, a theft

my time stolen, by

a movie golem

I'm left sitting, thinking,

drinking, and banking on

a horse, the inevitable divorce

and end the short, play

the day is over,

an Irish rover sleeps,

deep, in a field

of sheep, a shillelagh

dream, the scene says

painting, wet and a face

in a place, far from space

and complac-ency

decen-cy says stay

asleep, sow what you reap

and dream