You spin like a dervish, frenzy full,
a chasm of chaos
ready to swallow any
who will fall for the same old lines
brazen, brass, embarrassing, big.

You go big before going home,
that’s for sure,
but you’re going home alone
more and more
because there aren’t enough buyers
for the snake oil you sell
and the stories you spin
at your dervish derbies
may be dizzying
but they do dignity dirty, dude.

Your truth, like hair,
is thinning,
and I’m thinking
these days may be something
you’ll soon grow out of.