I will be blatant with the play on
dementia and dimension if you please.
Kismet has it that these two guys
one a singer of lyrics, the other
a reciter of meters and worth
bond with a common theme
leaving remnants of their art.
A thread of losing the mind
through proteins that consume
neurons leaving artists,
common folks alike as
empty shells of who they were,
puts them all on a voyage where
the portholes of their minds are
arranged in a deranged architect
of each of their own paths’ designs.
The time of their declines, soundness
moves uniquely each within their own
mutated accord–there is no exemplar.
The singer is castaway with forgotten
lyrics while the poet puts away his ink.
The caregivers of their remnants require
filling in the expanding holes who they
were once was with quiet resolute