Nothing is spared
For this roving
Sniveling wreck

For the dimwitted recluse
The pitiful
Impressionist of men

He is
But a wind-kicked shell
Frail and bound
For the scourge
Of desolate years

Far from rescue
The withering hermit
Lies bourbon-soaked
Engulfed
In squalor and stench

Bound
For inferno
And the agony surely beyond