I'm on to you

Round town square, squealing
tires flat as week-old soda, flatline
upright. Stand, upstanding young man,
stand before luck, and say,
don't be a lady tonight.
Stiletto rides stiletto,
stiletto twist and we shout;
nobody sees cataracts empty nothing.
Remember, I remember
that road, Lethe, traveled.
Less is more, less and less.

Drowsy with grace, faces chase their prey.
Your roles were to caress and tempt,
kneading fire to crest,
mine was to lie in ashen boat,
a rich carbuncle wrecked on truth.
Loss of slit, throat slit,
arise! arise! to arms, to wings
lacerating dead air with prickly breath.
Updrafts abandon, wheel
for one last look, look
to see itself fall asleep.