I is ego without charm or grace
... a life of self
Today do I loathe or today do I praise
I write the elegance of being alone

~.~

People are as diseases spreading revulsion for intuition
their sarcasm rashes and blotches of poultry conversation
but I ... ego ... I am the attraction
I serve myself in lust revelry always incognito
I ...ego... sell my soul freely to a passing slave
his name is not yesterday's will but sorrow

~.~

I ... ego ... have companions all but the flesh
they strive in excellence subduing ridicule and sentiment
brashly they compel then contrast with stammering intent
brutally complacent ignoring the will of servitude
Here ... my companions thrive in irresistible consistency
shearing and contorting my mind and spirit
Here ... my companions end and I ... ego ... return
with bitter acrid scent of self-despair robbed of Pharaoh's treasure
unguarded and scant I ... ego ... am left to complain
With an aged groan in which creation is created and sustained
I... ego ... romance with pornographic renaissance
passing passion for debase nymphs
or celestial sexual intercourse
of memories without feeling

~.~

I ... ego ...
am served without compassion
I ... ego ...
am shared without care
I ... ego ...
am loved without a mask