I suspect each of us has encountered fakes, stiffs, who too routinely fail to treat others humanely, seemingly deadened by their own, lifeless stuff. Thus, this poem:
Calling Awe Taxidermists
He was his own
Worst faux
And stiff
Was his weigh of life
His bag
Stuffed
With the lowest common denominations
You can take it to the blank
An empty suit
Of amor
In firm hide
An executive
In the company of others
Running lapse
Round the competition
A certifiable square
His art
Beating
His humdrum
Whatever
He wood do
He couldn’t help
Lumbering
Without imagining
Un-forest
His lonely companion
A cat, a tonic
There is no quest in
What’s he, fur
And on his better daze
A mirror knock off
And mock up
Worshipping his altar ego
His hollowed charm
On the hi way to hull
And if should
Happen upon awkwardly
Feeling
Phone-y
He squeezes in
That fateful calling
To the taxidermist
Uber creepy
