Green Mirror Greed

The sentient superstitious (of which there are more than one to a kind) point blind eyes

away from the universe's great number of finite infinities to the acts of the fortuitous goddess

known for - and ultimately, simultaneously fouled and aggrandized - unfortunate happenstance.

Or from the hypocritically ironic god ostentatiously sat under the steps of a ladder

or behind the shards of glass still pitifully,

rage-inducingly stuck to their mirror, which is itself blessed by that goddess.

All the while, the starry, tricolor money dripping from their mouths like the words of dullards (who rarely differ)

somehow matches the envious emerald of a jeweled face staring back at them from the same scarred mirror,

threaded from the grass of one's next paradise - called down to Earth, mind you, under the enfilade of worthless, scheming prayers

of every billionth ear of corn, decorated with a tattoo from the Hawaiian light bulb.

Woven as tightly as a moonlit pack a block southeast of Pine Street,

that is to say,

superifically impenetrable against the likes of a hypothetical Cognizant Being Dedicated to Meaningless Products of Earthly Affairs,

the green mirrors give back what they despise and discreetly hoard what is irresistible.

As is natural, less attentive entities carry on,

witless enough to stop at ignorance without achieving the guiling wit of the monarch's jester;

the monarch, of course, only ruling through a deeply hidden sense for the extraordinary, and,

near-deposed by aforementioned laymen, wishes the cliche were a canard,

for the monarch is wise and gifted with a curse.

But as long as a scepter of warm light is grasped by colorful, gloveless hands,

greedy green mirrors capture nothing.