There is no casting to redirect
his life from his never endings
& missing plot lines – comedy
won’t cure him – There they’ll
review each yet-cut scene in a
screening room in Wardour St
as traffic backs up below – His
dessies are worn through – no
way they’ll last one more day –
best to buy suitable boots – In
less leaner years his balances
read fat with credit [when his
name rolled up on openings –
billings high] – This last scene
will be his finest – no director
or a cutting room debacle [in
his palms plenty of cut drugs
to get him off – a calm prayer
offered up] – He’ll not learn a
part – instead playing himself
[until this last act is cropped]