There was a day
when I wished to be on the cusp,
the still can smell it
starched collar steam ironed fabric
of everything vogue
before I realized,
not that I did not care,
that everything else
relevant to eating three times a day,
sometimes two, and
occasionally once,
should define my dreams.
Not dictate, but
refine the ends
such that the means
could actually mean something
more than rungs toward contrivance's ladder and
parsley leaves to an entree.
I am not asking
for some sort of golden ladder,
whatever the means present,
what I am asking of myself
is to be on a daily basis potent
as the Adder and twice as confident
in the venom hidden in the mouth there and perhaps,
win every stand off
without drawn stereo.
