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A slave, just keeping up appearances

according to the schedule

of the tour

and beyond

even as these experiences are the ingredients

central

in the fermentation, of reality going sour

and behind

the 8 ball

at the after party

pool

looking good in the bad boy suit and glasses

while inside, slowing fraying

like a thrift store bargain

falling apart

even while doing a great job of playing the part

they say you’re supposed to be playing

as the lights flash on

snapping, like a whip

cracking

as the triumphant cues are playing

driving, like a taskmaster

bellowing

even as I walk out smiling

saying, I love you all