A Reluctant Fragrance Pushing Redundant Winds

My role is that of a repetitive explicit
        arguing with an absence,
My whole is implicit
        in the unfolding of an implied inconsequence.
I’m not afraid to own you but skeptical
        of an inferred benevolence,
I am, like them, seeking to sublet
        a part of my irreverence and irrelevance.

I'm the sailor and his whore and the unyielding sea-floor below
        in all its florescence,
Or the redundant winds howling
        before the sailor's only weapon, his common-sense.

A lost poet, sure I'm penniless, spent and sprawled
        before your evenness and evanescence,
I am the mystic's last lure and the pounding of the score
        into obsolescence.

In statutory compliance of and political alliance
        with the irredentist's iridescence,
I am his holiness, his permanence, his chemist and his bigamist
        cousin impermanence.

An employee of innocence serving time
        under an imaginary, ill-bonded fragrance called “Reluctance”
Of the one i lost during the ill-fated expedition
        to the Cape of all Convalescence.

Now that I’m making cold calls, taking hot orders
        from my duplicitous and other-worldly essence,
I am taking dead aim, no chances and no prisoners
        on this quest towards everlasting effervescence.

And If ever the undead soldiers take a break
        from their vengeance and stop shooting blindly
                at my depreciating petulance

With my invisible cape, i’ll then escape still
        donning this faraway façade of sheer confidence.