Insert Title_1 – a poem

We, the petty,

we, the bourgeois,

poring over mirrors of reflected, collected verse,

only we could drown

in the shallow pools of our own desires.

Self-worth and efficacy distort, distend,

dilate.

Our longing sighs inflate

gauzy bladders, diaphanous,

and we fancy them substantial because they are large -

(We say much the same of our philanthropy.)

- seeking no synonyms,

though “bloated” comes to mind.

A pseudonym can shelter

the sodden intellect, emaciated,

denigrated by false modesties.

How quaint.

How deep, the brainy poet

who breathes his own despite

behind alabaster walls,

sherry perched atop whalebone fingers,

sloshing like the contents of his skull.

Poseur.