Doctor, miserere!
Prescribe me an immunotherapy
against my misfortunate imbroglio.
I have to expose a demystification

the other day I received an ungentlemanly invitation
down at that aristocratic-blooded Minotaur’s gallery
to a wine tasting and
a war axe burying
but everybody knows how it goes
what could I do?
Suffice it to mention
I had heard
it used to cannibalize
rusty deus ex machinae
for breakfast
pseudomorphosing them into
cathartivore Procrustian beds.
It had been haunting me for so long
wanting to be mimetic
while I’m a chain polemic.
It had to be me
to have its scalp and horns.
Now I’m so disheartened for
having committed this lese-majesty.
I thought I was soon to be
appointed numismatist.
Such a pity
forensic lawgivers coughed deliberately and
excused for matters of
indeterminate vacation mandate.

What a decadence
I’m sorry
I have to see into your chiaroscuro
I’ll be retaining you
for a serious recuperation.
You leave all luggage when entering here.