A Shiny Thing

A SHINY THING
 a shiny thing I never was

nor made of stuff immaculate

but toothy grins and shins and bruises,

burnt up skins and string-tied shoeses

tentacles and pentacles; spectacular, tentacular

pentaculate, tentaculate

immaculate--

no and nope; not me

all angles in their witchy ways, 

all writhing feelers gone astray

a playground where no soul dare play

and in the gnarly blackest spots

where itches scratch and scratches cross

there rots the lot of should-have-beens.

the what-it-is

is what is there, and 

nowhere . . . nowhere

nowhere

is that thing once bright, that shiny light

oh radiant thread, pulled taut and tight

just hair gone mad and fingers roaming

eyes gone bad and fancies foaming

far from impeccable, close to wreckable

a shiny thing gone dark

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