The heat of the Serpent's Ointment

burns pleasantly

across my hurting right obliques

I chip off sentimentality

and tired traditionalism

from the company at Poetbay,

whisper sharp edges

and cutting steel

over self-pity & aggrandizement

in the international discourse,

weary of presumption

and amateurism;

reserving my attention

for the exquisite;

warding off the mediocre grotesque