A man staggered drunk on opulence,
covered in dust – gold sham.
He was very poor
and owned nothing but toys.
A double fabricator,
he made fake counterfeits
which people loved – unreal.
Raised in a house of mirrors,
he saw little but himself,
which rendered him unqualified
to feel the decency of shame.
He only looked at the world
when he knew the world was
looking back – and rightly so.
A visual echo, his face bounced back
from the eyes of people who looked
to see what he wanted them to see.
He counted only measurement and gain;
how big, how grand, how magnificent,
superlatives atrophied the right side of his brain.
His voice sucked thought from intellect,
formed vacuums in the populace of skulls,
replaced the people’s ‘we’ in power halls
with his egomanic xenophobic views
and left us with one cycloptic eye,
a single lens with which to see his world
of ‘me’ and ‘my’.