See how it is teed up on the nest, enabling
My fancy to whack it down the fairway of the future.
Hatched, growing its own wings, it soars
Over the barren bunkers of commonsense
And the despicable water-hazards of apathy, until-
Dizzyingly winning—it dips for the piscine hole.
Now I am standing them all a drink: they are all
Bibbers at the bar of beauty, their ears sprouting
Tentacles that suck me dry. The central figure
In this vicarious beauty-snatching, I stand aloof
Nonchalantly surveying the naïve and enjoy my triumph.