Spin Doctor
The man himself doesn’t interest us.
It’s image we admire.
The aura that surrounds the man—
Of that we never tire.
Don’t bore us with mere substance.
That’s far too trite a thing.
It’s superficiality
That gives him legs and wings.
Facts will come, then fade away,
Remembered by a few.
Contrived imagination—
That’s what we love to view.
