Yes that's him. A man I know well. Haunted. Gaunt is he. Hunchbacked, Joker in silk and velour Conceals a sunken chest Curved, As a damned consumptive's. Skin and Bones Skin and Bones Sails and Masts Propel his locomotion Coffee rings and cigarette burns. All it takes, his memory returns. Hard at work, Through tedium's gravity. Hellishly heaviest of weights To shoulder Then shake off The close of each day. I saw him stop And sway with the wind To listen for the rolling Of chariot wheels. Look off at storm clouds On far out horizons. Yes, everything's made To eventually break. Nothing lasts, No constants but change. Foul breath, Betrays vile intentions, As slogans and sayings Spill from my tired frame. Yet still his visage returns, And my pen only produces poison. Woe! Misery! Placate me! Let this red ink flow Through my fingers With one intent: May I expell this influence! Drain Festering Cyst!