For A Filmmaker, A Character Sketch of A Conman

There between the iris glimmer
and that casting landing hook and sinker
is stretched in slow measure the worth of a man.

And no wonder women surrender
to the promises and champagne grins,
the late night heart-skinning sessions
while the birds wake up
and noisily go hunting.

Something for something,
the barter wars that shave and slake
generations of wayward philosophers:

sages of the human way
choosing still slavery and toil’s pay;

as shrinking,
flight seals the day

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