Monk Manners

His heart is a box of broken match heads
Waiting to let go
As a techno monk
He appears out of the blue
Like a vision of death from the 90’s
Skating along coal and freezing divine
Chess and computer chips
Sporting exotic round eyes and jagged teeth

His mind turns into a polka band
Which marching out of his mouth
Gives you a snarling laugh
      Mocks and steals all concept of industry
And does much to misunderstand nature
      But then I do much to misunderstand nature

So we shake hands classically
      And exercise along opposite avenues