I addressed the audience
As a compere that hassled
Passing fabulists of renown,
Forging documents of rarity.

The folds of my skin
Seemed to concertina,
Like the bash of the drum
And the ache of the pen.

I folded my irate finger
With astounding success,
Feeling the gawk
Of my own invention and practice.

The lurching heat of detesters
Combed my hair,
Fixing grins and grimaces
With alarming nuisance.

The audience clapped afresh,
Flapping the face
While spectres spent
Their troubles with perception.