Plot reversals
burned my tongue on you
words hot
how the smoke rose
from my pockets
I broke my head on these
very thoughts
concussions echo
losing the plot
things have been flipped
I seem to be in your film
all my assumptions
on the ground
middle class artists
hesitate and miss
cowardice
haunts them from above
what am I without these tools
these indulgences
I’ve already been poor
I didn’t like it
I stare at my patron
through the glass
buying everything I do
It’s a double act
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