affection

Unique in the privileged access for knowing myself,

I delve with gloried delight in my life's material,

serializing a day by day account

of mounting a memorial to my individual existence.

Missile for a space shot, placed and ready

for the dread ignition, with liquid fuel hissing

in my blistered veins, I strain on the launching pad

to add my lustre to the night's star cluster.

Just as a mangey dog that barks at the moon

may harken with half an ear to the scoffing laughter

of sober-minded folk, who poke derision

at visionary flights of fancy, then so do I.

There's so much doubt depicted in my frame,

I'll never make it to the halls of fame.