He calls Earth “Terra antiqua”

Like the boy wasn’t born here like
He never subsisted as an embryo in the hollow
Of his human mother

He calls Earth “Terra antiqua”
Like he’s never seen it up close and
Has not walked along any latitude of this place -
Only sees in 2D

He is a more of a spider really
Sporting his cartoon eyes of eight -
Each set fully fleshed out with a biography
And an elementary school where they discovered
the flippant lifespan of boyish love

Everyone else is made up of elbows and elastic skin
But the Heteronym Man lives as a house
For his creations - he is made up of doors -
The insides of him have been scraped clean
He has moved out of his own body

And if Shylock should ever ask him
“Do you not bleed?!”
There is talk in the streets that he would reply
Only is silence

Nothing is concrete and it makes it so
his strange life can be adorned with nothing more
Than commoners speculation

Pathological liar, wicked tongue!
Alien, imposter!
Non compos mentis man!

That or he is more human than the rest of us -
Not afraid to say that he wants it all