The higher the sun rose into everybody’s noon,
the more it was said to be on an attention grab.
The brighter the full moon bathed darkest night,
the more it was said to be high on its ego trip.
The colder the north wind pressed against coats,
the more it was said to pulling a publicity stunt.
And the young poet, who’d only wanted to write
because it hurt not to, recites to an empty room?
Ah, your lover, who so proudly claimed you as his
for bragging rights, gets the press he asked for.