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| art by René Milot |
Hear ye, humble followers: my image shall be held on high!
Neglect hath shrunk my heart, a weight
that moors us to the blackest sea, while I apply
a golden gilt that fashions an alluring bait.
Depth of sight I haveth not, and thus I do collect
façades that shineth hugely brighte;
my biggest mirror is a wall, unfairest
since I needeth not to contemplate nor self-reflect.
I grant to ye my gravity from such tremendous heights.
What’s slick as oil causes falls, embarrassed
from the tower’s suite
(no room for anyone but me, for I, of course, am self-replete).
Revolve 'round me like I'm the sonne! I’m just as full of gas—
I lighte the way by leading with my egocentric ass.
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