Dost bidst me get behind thee, Mike?
Why so? Hast thou not known that I was always there?
How else could I have whispered in thy ear
and bid thee descend to this and that indulgence,
at my pleasure or at my will,
for my delight, have made thee dance
to my most merry tunes?
How else but from behind
could I have taken all the hindermost?
Those peccadilloes of which thou boasts
I gave thee in thy idle times,
those quirks and idiosyncrasies of taste,
my gifts to thee at birth.
I’ve carved thy faults deep, my protégée,
my toy, and now, thou ragged puppet,
doest seek to bargain with social exile
in exchange for profligacy?
If thou doest think
that that would set thee apart
then look again,
thou joinst a swelling throng.
The untempted are the ones that stand apart
Hah! Come closer, Mike, pale child.
See what I have here in my palm?
This murky , fading light that splutters and fails
is thy grimy soul, which as I wish or not
I’ll snuff.
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