ic[ed.] coffee / PTMIs / absolute … sincerity:

and you see it’s a thing;

not a bling nor a bad

but a goddamn ruddy 

fab.

and it’s a morning of truth:

a morning where your

veils 

unveil their ruths.

a dropping of fake 

and a taking of make;

a moment when 

you begin, instead, to drive 

those who drove your mad.

and all this time

they rhymed it so the world believed you

were the guy embracing 

the falsehoods

of neighbourhoods; 

and then there were all those torrential lies 

that flooded your eyes

with the crying of PTMIs

which aimed only to distract you – aggressive! –

from the realities 

you perceived, out of 

terrifying tendency

to do on your behalf

and never

consult

in honest collaborate.

so don’t attempt 

any more 

to suck up to my gullibility:

your credibility is finally burnt,

and hunted out of

all wagging 

and wigging 

and rigging

and shagging silly.

and will he 

or won’t he

is no longer the talk of the town

that downed 

so many of his aspirations;

and all that is left 

is the right 

to centre the rest of his life on absolute

… sincerity:


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