With apologies to Walt Whitman

I sing myself and praise myself, for what I believe
all shall believe, and if not they know not
what to believe, for what I think is the thing
to think and what I don’t recognize as thought
can’t be thought, or is ill thought

I sing myself and praise those who praise me, for
those smart enough to sing me as I see me do more
good for the world, and therefore me, than any other
muses under the sun might wish to have done, save
the flutter of certain verbs, or lips as is my desire

I sing myself and praise myself, for what I know
is the right thing to know, and how I express
is the right way to express, for those who think
differently or express differently possess unfortunate
defects of the mind and pen

I sing myself and praise not those who do not praise me,
for I understand little other than what I like
and am best suited therefore to tell others
what to like, for if I like, all should like, and if I
dislike, all the best minds should dislike as well

I sing myself and praise myself for all the best minds
are like my mind and my mind is like all the best minds
and whatever falls through the cracks falls into oblivion
and is worthy of my scorn, for what I scorn none
should mourn, and what I praise, all should well enjoy