He strikes with his left,
with hand full of grasshoppers.
He plays the flute on the lawn
drawing mosquito cupids to the city centre.
where lust and confusion hang onto
idle adolescent bohemian wannabe´s.
He strikes with his left a fork for a hand
and instead of hair shiny green cicadas.
He plays the violin into the night,
notes are caught on the wind.
Infatuated youth spring out of their
parents crude nests like virgin flight
birds.
Their expectations obediently backed up
against the freshly painted wall to be executed...
Sinistercon a shiny coated alisation
roams the streets,
licking the wounds of
the loveless
and humbling the heartbreakers.
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