The Situationist

a simple case of timing,
one thin thred,
a thimbleful of lies.
a lie along the way
could make your wave,
then we'd all say your name.
fly your flag away
and see who waves,
they might just say your name.
i loved the time when
a little clumsy rhyming
could fit the crown on your head.

head down arms straight out,
left without having completely sussed it out.
head to the sun i'ved left to run