I caught a glimpse of it outbound and walking East Street’s edge of shard and brutal heat, all revel, and defeat:
………………..in an outcropped, ………………..landslid face.
It’d been bestowed the likeness and lot of Midas: old (while he was not) and deplumed, a swell of hair raked to those golden few,
………………..a finger of wind ………………..flicking them.
I even thought of Lucifer, sad aquifer of lyric, loving the Pyrrhic white; his cottonmouth wide open with
………………..the nothingness ………………..evil is.
And singing myself into the one unbroken pane of glass I passed, the person I saw reflected half the person I was, demanding the change—
………………..a glimpse of gone. ………………..It kept on, and on, and on.