Nothing fits properly

Nothing fits properly

A jacket coming apart at the seams

Worn as a second skin

Still on a hanger

Bits of wire hooked into the ragged remains

The shape of things

Dragged into focus

Safety pins, an essential suture

As arms hang uselessly

Without form or purpose

Empty of opposition

There is atrophy

What is his function

When naked

For all the world to see

An Emperor to stupidity

Held together by memory

Tracing lines

Following a pattern

Of behaviour

Without blurring edges

As frayed as his disposition

Too long confined

Convenient truths ignored

As the weight falls off

Sloping shoulders

Standing exposed

Old bones and rotten flesh

A medical skeleton

Bound in rags

Held together with string

And the contents of a stationery cupboard

Assembling Prometheus,

Waiting for Shelley

To light the fire.