All grand gestures and jesters;
Holy hell, hounds and hightides hungry as haunted houses
Swallowing either hemisphere of my malformed and misshapen brain;
Like the last lost deserted island, succumbing to an ever looming moon.
All grand gestures and gentle words,
I coil and writhe as late afternoon wanes.
A decision noticed in hindsight, 
On legs twisted backfacing;
Made mockery in a kingdom of locked doors and palisades,
I, at last, bow like a pocketknife.