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Poetry Magnum Opus

I Am Smarter Than You


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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



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.

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