to
mentor unenlightened souls,
he
can’t exist without a protégé –
a
malleable creature he could
sway
to-ward his vision of what
he could
confidently say was his
self-evidently
viable reliance upon
values
that authoritatively made
sense,
but evanescently: born of
aperçus, velleities and other super-
subtle
inclinations that accrue
from
the dimensions of applying
one’s
attention to correct esthetic
pensive
sorts of meditation based
on Pater,
Wilde and (odd to some
but
not to him) the latter works
of
Erma Bombeck, which together
constitutively
project a sure yet
flexible
recourse to which you
could
repair, beyond what your
despairing
puny consciousness
alone
could bring to bear on
anything
at all. Upon whoever
cleaved
to what this sage believed,
would,
without fail, befall the sort
of wealth
of meaning that ensues
in
lives lived by and through his
kind
of supple scruple, not the
unavailing
stolen goods, the pelf,
to
which the avarice of greedy
grasping
hands remands the
unenlightened
soul. But by this
time
a protégé with half a mind
will
have divined the whole
scenario:
like an asexual Lothario
who
out of habit acts as if he lusts
for
prey, or a psychotic Santa
who
has managed to waylay his
last
remaining elf, he’ll only ever
have
been talking to himself.
.
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