We Are All Famous, Yes

We are all famous; yes: To that familiar pen, and that worn notebook To the hidden scraps of paper, behind the picture frame To those secret yearnings at midnight Behind the ornamental bush; alone in our solitary confinement And yes, to that same image staring back from the mirror And to that Shakespearean shirt we still wish we owned And to the mad clamor of the raving world For only our words; our symbolic strivings, Our one lonely hand, reaching out bravely to grasp But a single impoverished meaning Out of the whole of possibility Amid the world's tintinnabulations And genuflections: Yes, we have been, and are, and will be Famous, in our more certain solitude.