THE NARCISSIST
Looking into a
mirror of alchemy,
blunt, boorish features are
transmuted into aquiline gods.
Golden crowns
forever grace the heads
of these Roman Emperors &
magnificent Patrician queens.
Mediocre thoughts
become gem-like; brilliantly
blinding sun from its own glory.
Screeching owls
transformed as nightingales.
What fortune
has blessed us with
such stellar luminousity?
O, see me,
hear me, want to be me.
I am...the true narcissist.
Glory rewinds
throughout the entire template.
O, fortune,
Why have you deceived us?
This ruse of smoke & mirrors
is but a fully-spread-peacock
beckoning...
Alice Parris
</DT> <DD class=wp-caption-dd>Photography by Stony River/AU</DD></DL>