Lord Stanley Sits

“Just call me Lord Stanley”, he tells me.
This man
with the gilded codpiece who

released me

from this mental prison.
Restricting me from my true potential
Like a stripper’s clothes restricting
The stripper from its nude potential.
Opens mouth,
tongue-and-lips ebb and flow
like the tides of passion,
forming words in an ol' dead tongue.
I

can

comprehend

Them.

Slowly, but Shirley Temple,
sweet nothings are whispered into my faceless pagan ears.
My mind, like Thor’s skull, is shattered;
mental chockablocks, thoughts clouded by deceit;
words stampede over my cerebral cortex, knocking
me metaphysically unconscious.
Slowly, bestial braingoop coagulates;
translating Lord Stanley’s words-
----------------------------------------------------------
“Every shower King Midas ever took was golden”