VANITY FLARE

Don’t get me wrong: I know
that knowledge is power,
that mystery’s water,
that hunger makes
a gargantuan lover,

and yes, I’ve drunk
of the river Lethe,
from the book of the Celts,
from the echo of
the bugling elk,

and yet, alas,

here I be,
small and twee,
all liquored up
on song and love,
hard as rails

and light as air,
expecting the heavens
to throw down a flare,
to send in the clowns,
to burn a bush,

strike up the sea,
anything
that might mean
those cloudy bastards
have noticed me.