30:30 2014, Day 3

My Hat is like a Shark's Fin

My necktie is a crosswalk

from throat to crotch, long enough

for the King of Industry to land

his Cessna in unexpected weather.

My shirt is the blank page

of 20# stock, two SIGN HERE darts

calling out weak lungs left

and right. You ought to read

before you sign. You won't.

My blazer is the nori sheet

that binds up this hasty raw

trend. Cheap. It hides the artless

from the tasteless.

My pocket square is parachute

for the devil on my shoulder.

My watch is resistant

to metaphor up to

sixty meters. My trousers

are the rebels' flag

until they come up with better

My shoes are binary stars

gleaming quietly

through the cordovan shift.

By the time the light reaches

your eyes, I will be long retired.