Postmodern Heresy

he’s an aspiring polymath,

an iconoclast of the 
misanthropic variety,

a virtuoso with an unfulfilled 
quota
of self-loathing.

rain falls on the
night-riddled
pavement
and two married dudes
brazenly flirt

with his youthful facade of hard-work
and free-verse
conversation,

although the latter is as fabricated
as the former is authentic.

microcosmic invention;
and big picture
notwithstanding,
there’s an aura of desperate
meaning
in the convex-mirror
of 
self-branding.

he’s sanded the 
hard edges
of his disarray 

down to a gentle,
inconspicuous 

glow.

Willie Watt
06.09.16

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