Quintessentialist

With an ignorant disposition
searching blindly in the dark
for
answers in a midnight game show

staged
in back alley, brick rooms
facing the white, white stars
reaching toward the poisoned blue.

A set of false teeth, a glove
gripping iron rods
rusted crimson red,
so old they’d bend and break

They would perish
under red brick weight
and dust.
Dust for red, red brick walls.