I know who you were with tonight.
He seems he comes from angels spawned from Michelangelo.
He has the eyes of a sailor
who’s seen the dark pit in the ocean.
And he never seems to quake at the sight of haunting birds in the sky,
flying over the Atlantic.
But, unlike him, you’ve seen the birds be swallowed,
deep within Poseidon’s dungeon.
He has a job.
It gives him stamina.
It gives him the power of the rocks to crumble
at the sight of prestige.
And when they fall they only do so over the bank of others’ opportunity,
over the ads and the phone interviews.
For you are in awe.
But only for a short time.
Ultimately, you will look onto the horizon
and although you tasted his mouth,
you will see the flaw in the way he sweeps his hair
and that it is only in the direction of his success.
You are an accessory,
only here for the show.
But it is finally your duty to sit down during the standing ovation
and book your opening
on the same night of his fourth ceremony.