Vogue

SUAVE, debonair, I’m sure I look; by hook or by
CROOK I thought I’d win them all over––until reality
THREW me a curve ball, and I at last
BEGIN to see it’s a funhouse mirror before me.

No Refuge, Nor a Friend

CROOK rifled chest to steal every last doubloon
THREW my parchment and my quills in the lagoon
SUAVE he posed with charm yet executed only harm
BEGIN he now and reckon to the end, he’ll find no refuge nor a friend.

Secret smoker

ASHEN burns on ancient brown ash-
TRAYS. Nicotine stains on fingers.
BUGLE warning, hide the stash! Something’s
AMISS! It’s that smoky reek than lingers!