If no one's watching, what does it count?
A parade with no floats is a crowded street,
a mirror to a vampire, just glass.
Even a poet
--despite protest to the contrary (and there will be)--
lacking readers, is nothing more than a delusional English Major
left dusting off stacks of synonyms
to make more room in her study/office/den
For even onlookers
hope to be onlookees in some facet
we all need to be eyeballed
(by our own if circumstances are dire)
to fuel the grotesque need
to brand those shadow monsters of feigned dignity,
our silhouettes,
onto the spotlight
where once situated,
we can bark orders along the lines of...
all floats must process and exude campiness as expected
guffaw over syntax, tired professors and linquistic critics must
judge us! pet us! encourage us
to peek
over the edge of our vanities
and wait for the worst
our most fearsome,
our reflections
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