The Paranoise

The Paranoise

The Paranoise will never take a walk
Without his stick that folds into a chair
So he can sit and listen to the talk
Of passersby who are not even there.

The Paranoise will never start a fight
Without a tongue that changes to a gun
To shoot the argument he fears is right
And keep his favored enemies on the run.

The Paranoise will always come too late
To give his allies what he calls relief.
The Paranoise says everything is Fate.
The Paranoise does not believe in Grief.

The Paranoise lives underneath a stone
You’ve seen already, picked up, aimed, and thrown.