flightless

I met a man

who was fighting 

his shadow

he was dull inside

and dead as a dodo

he spoke in tongues
strangely familiar
first languid
and then rabid
in a paralytic dialect
of mumbles and grunts
cunt was a drooler
a mewling loser
dredging an ocean
of heartfelt regrets
and bitter recriminations
he'd traded his allocated
ounce of solid soul
for the draught of oblivion
and I’ve seen his face before
in some distant mirror
but I don't know him
he's nothing to me
so show that bum the door

before he spills another drink

and then cries out for more