My titular duty is to myself;
I am the State of Mind; love of oneself
Is foundational and vocational
And found with books on every man’s shelf.
I am seeking an artwork so damned great
That its splendour will enthrall all I hate;
A Raphael or Michelangelo
Will suffice in the place of some hot bait.
A prisoner of my Grace, I need help
To overcome my vanity; a yelp
Pleading for such has been my vocation
And, I am huge into artful self-help.
At the salon we looked at each other
Followed by her sweet words as den mother,
Then she begged me to visit her for tea
And her voice was art enough to smother.
We go way back, she and I; we once caught
Haddock together at sea and we got
Caught sneaking bites of it fried one warm night;
She taught me to kiss and to own my spot.
’Tis nobler to have hungered with great care
Than to make and dine on a gilded prayer,
And, I am hungry; I wish to feast now
With panthers and to know their slanted stare.