his floorboarded bones are rusty nailed jointed
unoiled and wrapped in stiff wads of coiled rags
arms incorrectly angled end with scuffed knuckles
woodsmoked fingers and pipe tar bittendown nails
he is racked with medieval torture pains
a brickly arched back is nauseously slime coated
mortared graveyard teeth set in crooked abandonments
behind methylated breath-fumes his misty arcane eyes dwell
one legged he shuffles with a fossilised slum dweller ambiguity
his inner tinnitus voices weep through welted tunnelled scars
the castellated storms that rage around his corridors of power
stalk death with every eerie echoed clack of his knotted stick
and the castle children taunt:
“rotten leg!
rotten spine!
ya! ya! Barquentine!”