Erric Emerson

Follow Suit

Go on, then.
Seek that which remains
rhetorical, without retort,
dismissive hand-wave
by narrow-eyed prophet,
self-fulfill, produce tomes
chockfull of minced word,
wield fountain tip as daggered
butterfly meant for jugular
and bleed out. With regards,
make your mark, feign high art
in gaudy formation of book,
embossed, leather-bound,
a loud sigil of floweriness.
Trick about, then vanish
into smoke screen- nothing
to see here. Schooled gentleman,
yes, manchild hanger-on,
coin flip today’s: To be.
Lock eye with dusked muse
to be forgotten when the birds
whisper in trees you will never
know the names of.

Your pseudo-Zen,
thatched hat sensibility-
ebbs abject horror,
eludes doomed femme
fatale imaginings,
saves embattled horse
who’d taken arrows
on some scorched field.
The mirror’s intervention,
that follows;
my, my,
you’ve seen better days.