By VICKI RICHARDSON

"I am me," said he.
To the universal mirror

Whose reflections show an image
Of his truth.

He sees so clearly how he (the center of the world) controls it,
He sees for himself, of himself, and to himself selected.

"Why," asked I, "are you the center of the world?"
"Ask not that," said he, "but why the world deserves me.

Laugh not ‑ such funnies have been crinkled
In the human cranium.

But when the book of Wisdom is opened,
How blind he goes.