This is a sallow divo, weary of the game.
Discarded masks, the apprentice tools
of his youth, surround his throne.
Bacchus, valued only by fools,
swallows his own lyre. A jester
whispers in the prince’s unseen ear.
Good luck on finding a funny bone there.
Lorenzo slumps like a gambler bored
with the rigged cards hidden inside
his leopard skin cuffs. Power
and patronage were yesterday’s
play things. You can bet David’s
perfect arse his eyes will soon swivel
towards the two-way mirror that tips him
when Il vero Magnifico is about to enter.
Lorenzo’s public hand is angled, spire sure…
Portrait: Lorenzo the Magnificent