Lapel

On my chest

an arcaic mouth

of sharp lips

opens

its sharp lips

without violence.

For violence surrenders

to the loneliness

of time.

To the cruelty

of cold and rain.

To the speed

of novelty.

You’re blinded by novelty, lapel.

But you’re obsolete.

Obsolete, like me.

Fast, lapel,

run fast.

Run the runway.

Fast as fashion.