who turns up to every party

late and slow

and seeks the bar

with an ant eater for a face
who shakes but does not dance

who barely keeps sentences together

but instead leaves them

spread out between mouths

like washing hanging

on string between

old buildings in Europe
who makes up every dollar

he's ever earned, who tears tissues

with earthy fingers

and fills the salad bowl with

the smell of rats
who is found hugging a pot plant

after the music stops,

who does not want to go home

and tried to eat every handshake
who wears American

highway-cop sunglasses and passes

out on the couch

between conversations, whose

pants come with black hole pockets

for small change and fivers
who hits on girls in posters

and leaves lichen-like drool

on fluffy pillows where a little sister

was to sleep that night
who is found the next morning

in the stairwell, stinking of the grave

and undergoing a terrible chrysalis

and twitching.