We walk that walk to the open mic
in our dozens, our scores, our hundreds:
three appearances might make up
our fifteen minutes of fame.
We ask you to read, and re-read,
our lines in pamphlets, booklets,
online outlets, magazinelets.
For back in our nests and garrets
we have taken some verbal selfies:
some snapped very close, convex-faced;
some written at arms length,
a little background creeping in;
some written with a special sonnet-stick.
But verbal selfies all the same:
ego logorrhoea. Ecce homo.