Come gather ‘round one and all, fool and effendi,
and hear the considered views of noon’s svelte
raconteur, on leave from daytime's winded posse.
Long has he studied the world’s mad onamism
twisting its fitful bulge around the pole.
Eloquently he speaks, this unlettered pontiff,
much-fêted author of unresolved centrisms,
articulating Ptolemy at tea.
And later we’ll sit in a star-sentried salon
like adjutants in a baronial intrigue,
signing heretical ordinations
and picking weeds from being’s lush topiary,
as the exalted architect of shadows steps
down from twilight’s applauded podium,
resigning his pearly throne to a massing throng.
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