were the king wise he’d see all stars in rooms

not onstage acting out flamboyant dooms


the linkages of all-empowering thought

shall be the versifactor’s humble ought


we give thanks for whatsoever dowered

the likes of us quite seemly from the showered


like a fractal comet’s tail he goes

infinitely monitored (who knows?)

the empty studio has no lack of interns

and the signal blows which way the wind turns