red jacket

  Progress’ll put a black-cherry-char,
        E’en on a flame-proof Chief—

      Where there’s smoke, I’ve been;
              Where a star burns, I aim again—

            For only a Brave-too-hospitable,
        ‘Midst the most unawakened-in-chains,

              Would pick drink o’er polished pin,
      As it piercingly pertains

        To the too-flammable dirigible
  Of self-inflated disbelief.

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    Poetry: Shame Of Thrones
        https://windstrewn.com/2019/11/10/shame-of-thrones/