Plasticity is a virtue in these parts.
Vague stars kick start the bangarang,
flashing gang signs and strictures.
A picture of honesty chewed to bits.
Truthfully, I have the shits of these splints.
I’ve got a wincing witch in the kitchen
who blitzes me with backlight.
A fright in the frieze. On my knees,
I am wholesome, but on my feet,
I am fulsome, and all I need
is just one quantum leap to take me
to daring depths not even gods can fathom.