The Golden Boy

Scion, old money

Finds me on a couch, says we

Should eat at the school

Of culinary

Arts nearby. No longer mad

At me; my anger


I am having cocktails for

Breakfast again. The

Mirror shows my face,

Sun burnt. We chat about crowds,

Anxiety and

Vaccines, descending

By elevator through the

Thronging masses. He

Sees my face under

The mask, and he is friendly

This time, we are friends.


Sulfuric acid

Burns me, dissolves the lesser

Man, all that is not

Gold. So surgerize

Me, cut me open and bleed

Me dry, the pain makes

Me more alive. I

Can take it, pour it on me.

Revelation’s fire.