He washes himself Clean To A Bone
Sprinkles inches of golddust atop – stares inside the Folklored mirror of gargantuan sorts, no stopping him now
Or ever for that grandiose reason
This suit is bombarded in bounce-about bRiLlIaNcE
Permittal to appear Imaginatively behemoth even if anything but
The Mayoral Strut
Been seen to sizeably interrupt, to garner hero – worship
Strip these people to the cloned bone
And to begin all over again when least suspected
Never to hang about and look downward – pounding forever on upward
His sword is silently pressed against the Silkened side of his equipped hip – awaiting terrific upheaval