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 breath 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.