The old grey mare ain't what he used to be
hamster wheel, scrambled
eggs, anchor, soup.
His brain is a smoothie now
tapioca pudding at this point
vocal stim.
He's Flanderizing, keeps
repeating it like
it's a profound revelation.
He's on a looper
coping by trying to normalize
his stupidity.
His skull only houses rancid
ground meat
and broken light bulbs.
Big League Chew
like a third-rate cruise ship comic
brain worms, mashed potatoes.
His wig continues to morph.
He feels the need
to explain the 'joke'.
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