On Having a Job Application Rejected

The ticking of a diarist-wrist  
from a one in two billion tourbillon
wistful of blissful office trysts
yet to be agreed upon,

the nearest irate agnate
to the first gold rush blush
or magnanimity from a magnate
to whom perfidy is a paintbrush,

betrays in soft self-defeating increments
the legion of miscarriages
induced by the instruments
their very victim disparages,

which is why my font’s inelegance
or the passport photo I forewent
I’ll put down to providence
and default on my rent.