Autoapotheosis

"But see, amid the mimic rout

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out

The scenic solitude!

It writhes! – It writhes! – with mortal pangs

The mimes become it's food,

And seraphs sob at vermin fangs

In human gore imbued.

Out – out are the lights – out all!

And, over each quivering form,

The curtain, a funeral pall,

Comes down with the rush of a storm,

While the angels all pallid and wan,

Uprising, unveiling, affirm

That the play is the tragedy "Man,"

And it's hero the Conqueror Worm." *

Time and space run through my astral veins.

Stars obey my orders.

Planets circulate me in neverending concentric rings.

I am the center of the universe.

I am COSMOS!