I Am Smarter Than You

[Weareneverwhoweare]

Close your mouth, lummox - you

bygone pigment scraped from the easel

of Monet's inept impression.

 

Your roots are bastard raphanus

bafflement cored in cerise grot, sogged

penurious marshland cultured

in spoor of lotus.

 

I am the prized zenith, draped

in rhodium, universe brain sharpened

to the paragon, Da Vinci's true

Vitruvian.

 

My roots are anchors, tethered

to Earendel - lauded, panegyrics

for me recited by ministries and

minstrels beyond eons.

 

You are in sum to liquor puris

putrid asides from fistula.

 

I am E Pluribus Unum

incarnate aisle of plenty.     

 

Lap my trotters, squalor.