a Thursday

naked, you glow, you know—
but red when you’re this seen,
enraged on this stage
of unconscious anachronisms;

of what advent is bareness everywhere,
adventuresome advantages
as old as rhyme!—
primitive appropriations of
gallant associations…
of freedom and individualization…?

blinded, burnt-out, dregs of a moiety
sink residually to the bottomless pit
of a goblet of decadence
only the elite dip from,
as their followers sip from

for show, with little to tell of
save the fiery lure of hell
on earth, in that flesh,
masked by expert pretense
fooling none but expertise itself.

sweet redemption lies
in the afterglow
when white is your might
and black is your bite,
ruthless in the face of doubt,
relentless with joy.

maybe no one looks,
and the time comes for you
when your fight is as your flight,
you know, a guiding light.


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