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 and aggrandizement
in the international discourse,
weary of presumption
and amateurism;
reserving my attention
for the exquisite;
warding off the mediocre grotesque