Rascal

By Fabrice Poussin

Rascal

The ghost in his long snowy robe

walked into the room with pompous arrogance

a god of its own making he declared

all truths upon the feeble creature.

Shoulders arched supporting the weight of

another incendiary dusk its gaze seems lost

glazed with decades of forgotten memories.

Presiding over an army of wandering souls

upon a vinyl throne the thing grimaces still

blinded by the blade of shining steel wheels.

Another apparition floats into the holy domain

armed with an encyclopedia of certainties

nodding to its accomplice knowing of all destinies.

They assess the creature pulling at clichés

to define, decide and conclude at last that

this body no longer matters in the world of

the living devoid of concrete intelligence now.

Poor devils they are as the grimace freezes

deep inside a man strives in his glorious realm

glad to be ignored by the shrieking voices

he is surrounded by the myriad of his memories.

The flesh machine has broken down again

its parts lost amid so many adventures

yet he lives as ever before with a new light

if the strange visitors know only death.