The calling comes to you first
in a dream of sweeping fields
of gold lamé and aggressive
sexual simile. True, you are
lonesome tonight, every night,
but freedom echoes through
the lost years. Define yourself
with the light that dances off
your sequin disguise, become
the smooth, fresh skin until
the syllables of your name rot
and fall away. The Elvii ride at
midnight, and you’re either with
them or you watch them pass.