Plot reversals

burned my tongue on you 
words hot 
how the smoke rose 
from my pockets  

I broke my head on these
very thoughts 
concussions echo
losing the plot 

things have been flipped 
I seem to be in your film 
all my assumptions
on the ground

middle class artists
hesitate and miss
cowardice 
haunts them from above

what am I without these tools
these indulgences 
I’ve already been poor 
I didn’t like it

I stare at my patron 
through the glass 
buying everything I do
It’s a double act