he is a fool, can't follow in red suit
shoddy shuddering maverick
with no doubt but all of it shoved by spoonful
out of the bosom pocket comes a leveler
a shout of reckoning
to kneel at same height, same width
the challenge comes from a fortress of tongue
breathing mindless and stacking insult on insult
they go at it without blow
the sour heat rising from cramped knuckles
they are willing to do battle
but they cough up in the must
crackle in water
the clapping of waves that do not overflow the tub
do not sit well with the combatants
they will not know cleanup
desire to mend is not an option
he feels the ends spit out of his hands
no following in splendid attire
just mouth and a stalemate
the glory of solace
earmarked in a locked box
forever untouched
by the stingy fling of endless word.
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