Dissipation, my purple mood,

bruised by Parkinson, I see raw

my habitual style, whisky mac;

fish coarse unsuitable to eat,

though no gentle crawl, ungenteel,

no flies on me, vaguely astute.

Maudlin, bridge from sane to silly,

sounds pouring nard wastefully, both;

while bike above and punt below -

I have negotiated both -

there's little cast betwixt, between.

The decadence I crave is sit

when others stand, excuse engage

with radical, enamel plate,

spoon for knife, postprandial drag,

for beneficial nicotine.