the story of a new man

Hey people, here's a post about everything. A story that I'm writing for you right now (time doesn't exist!) and as you read it, well, just wonder whether I'm still writing it.

The man from Parma had sideburns that sauntered up
the crags of his face.
He ordered
a tall
lemonade and made away with it
into the vanity shop next door.
Margarita asked everyone
where
her
man
went.

He's guzzling the black ribs of the bird,
girl,
you know; you're so good looking
but
you waste it
in a flower pot.
Then Margie cries.
Then the crow flies.
Then the man from Parma returns.
Then the place closes and it becomes nighttime.
Inside the man from Parma's coat pocket is a small poem he
wrote:

the way of the world
is kind; I have been
lurid and mighty, as
is my want; leave me
the only girl with
pennies for eyes; snake
slither sizzle