I can’t call that man a nattering ass,
(Who says he created my looking glass),
Since I opened his mouth to amuse me
With my own exquisite philosophy.
No one can say I didn’t make the world
That flaps like a flag some soldier unfurled.
I needn’t apologize that I willed
To have that soldier spared, wounded, or killed.
There’s no one to extend my regrets to,
Except my entirely imagined “you.”
I make, making sure I can’t change today.
“Prove it!” you demand, which I made you say.
There’s only my beautiful Narcissus
And can be only him and me, no “us.”
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