“Daughter, dear, come here. Little one, be held by your parent.”
Now I have to tell you, my sweet audience of a captive performer, I have no children, save the ‘brain children’ I have summoned for myself as company. Misery loves it, I hear.
Misery, miserere, miniseries, miser, mister? A crowd gathers, mmmmm.
It is not easy to keep my mind on my imaginary kid, I’ll tell you the truth, kiddo. No, it’s not you personally, don’t worry. It’s just that I’ve been here literally forever, so you must be a youngster to me, dig? But anyhow, I try to focus, folks, for cousin, it’s vital. My daughter: Persis-Tensive Memory, isn’t she lovely?
I have her in mind. Nobody else can, so it’s up to me, ye ken? Give her a chance to impress you.
Enigmatic, raven-haired blond Persis, here and gone, O armful of non-harmful ideas!
I now give her leave to speak: to you, onlookers all, passersby, ye strolling mockers who are just an earshot away from my private, transparent Hell. I am the transParent.

Here she is with a poem!