Bowl of Clementines

BOWL OF CLEMENTINES

 

He needs a bowl of clementines,

To feed his starving mutt.

He’s forgotten all his valentines,

Since the voices showed up.

Honeyed words whisper of a holy mission,

They’ve got him now,

He believes in the vision.

Childlike, broken, in his shrunken frame,

The voices they wheedle, cajole,

Proclaim he’s still in the game.

Sinister spectres stoking the flames of delusion,

Wild-eyed ministers to the madness,

The terrible, sickly collusion.