The Slow Toad

He sits
Morose
Malcontent
Muttering malice
Re-picking teeth

In his gut
The poison finds
Comfort
With the poisson
Of April

The smooth wine burns
The comfort course
Acid house blend
Bringing balance
To the bear

Red-faced and full
He lingers
Tapping idle fingers
Filling idle thoughts
With weasel words

If you see him
Take pity
His lotus leaf cannot hold
Too much
Reality