Kings

Kings

Royal blue talons, you
Boastful dog, smiling cur,
Ranging through the filth of modern smiles.
Listen roadkill:
Whisper the transit, mindful of endings
Clacking and singing
Guns discharging
their ember hearts
into flaming flowers
that soak up grief
And are conduits of culture, they say. So they say
And they’ll always say. You
The glugg-glugging one in the corner
Leering the leer of kings common, white and pallid
With hospital eyes
And a stiff nostril, you the charmer
Of the fragile,
Scour the sour crumbles of roads
For the stash of gilded lily yesterdays, and the
Hoary sunrises, only a pocket of daylight
In an everblooming night.