Vanity Flare

Don’t get me wrong: I know   
that knowledge is power,   
that mystery’s water,   
that hunger makes   
a gargantuan   
and yes, I’ve drunk   
of the river Lethe,   
from the breath of the Celts,   
from the echo of   
the bugling elk,   

and yet,   

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,   

that might mean   
those cloudy bastards   
have noticed me.

More Poems by Wendy Videlock