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.