an old Russian from Saint Petersburg

the tin man

is wearing a crown of thorns

but it's slipping over his face

and now he's naked

with power

like Boris 

was 

once upon a time

while standing in front of the Kremlin with a hand gun

and an army of western journalists.

the tin man

is the owner

of a palatial estate

which is larger than Titan, 

a moon of Saturn,

but for which he paid nothing,

while stepping over the graves of critics.

the tin man

is riding a wild horse

but he's looking for his shirt

while tightly holding the reins

and kicking his mount

with all the strength

of an old Russian from Saint Petersburg.

the tin man

is combing his thinning hair

while looking into the face

of a beautiful young woman

who is half his age

with smooth skin and an accent

of pure submission.

she tells the tin man

that the seasons never change

and he believes her,

while stroking his chin like a judo master

standing before a private mirror,

whispering

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall!"