Illusions of Glamour

Guys like you have a way of carrying
our stares, acting so unaware, making
everyone you ignore want you more.
One at a time, one at a time, blurred lines

form into static where noise prefers clouds
of chaotic sound to names whispered. Sing
louder this desire’s loudest sounding bored,
pretending at being underwhelmed. Sign

the bending of your heart’s bow preparing
to throw toward our crowd its arrows. Shards
an artist gathers, forms with weathered wings
what hands falter to hazard, grace wagered

in the face of a storm, in the hoping
for your touch from which we were torn before

hunger devoured us after being
floored. Slain in the moment, how can you play
down being drawn? Illusions of glamour
deform in an instant those their designs

reconfigure, cover over with burns
ashes turning to dust inconvenient
parts of our Selves no better or worse than
anyone else. Tears make ink of this kind

of stuff you write off as too much aching
baggage to deal with. Discarded, we laugh,
having the upper hand for once. Faking
nothing more than thinking superior

someone so ashamed of his past. Even
burying it makes us dig your scars more.