The Prismatic Self: Male Arrogance
Okay then, I’ll admit it. Yes, I’m lazy.
Not quite the hardest worker ever known.
My talent is a Motorola phone:
to drink the colour of a mountain daisy
or taste a mirror (doesn’t that sound crazy?)
I need to keep it charged: I have to hone
those Pasolini “pentals” of my own
(“that’s mental petals”, says the Bolognese).
I enter things without the least compunction:
no sooner enter, than believe I’ve won:
no sooner win (excruciating pun)
Narcissus-like, than find the photo-function
to say that, on reflection, it was fun:
like playing chicken at a railroad junction.
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