Friday, 6 April 2012

NaPoWriMo Poem Six: The Imp of the Perverse

pink dreadlocks,
a gammadon of canneloni arms playing
the drums like a hurricane,
a Hindu Keith Moon, with free reign

come and screw
up any regularly scheduled sketch
with the freedom of the antic wretch
to, without permission, fetch

in any set-up
and deconstruct it, growling just his name,
disregarding all rules of the game:
maximum soul, Animal, unchained, untamed!

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