Mr poet

I am an actor of poetry, 
thought stunts my growth;
I clip each hair namelessly, 
trusting every moment
And discolour my scalp under 
the whispering Sun
That seems to melt, though not 
to ‘awake' or ‘please';
The white cremations sow the 
embryo unto all the states
Of ignorance, where electrical 
hordes bustle independently;
And malignant sparks of fat, filth 
ridden bouts of people idly dote,
Swarming like hollow profligates 

to watch in revelry, nothing but themselves
And I bellow my fortunes on the stage!
(When fear collects it's beneficiaries)
And my friend's eyes arch over me in submissive discern;
He must be unnerved by the fair hair growing on my chin.