I am the king!

-or not!

the style of king, now thinking
but man shaped, full well
fatling

now prattling. erstwhile tense, over; 
i will use a semi-colon in the poem; 
you couldn't see me yesterday and now you 
exist, as if i exit 

the shop, the windows with their baneful glare, 
the shrewd of me knows to slink out, to bow, 
to somewhat only love you through haunting. 

as though the choice was mine, and i am handheld
to my suffering, its three fingers and gawping mouth, 
and the sound of that beating wild inside me
as if i once heard lake and swan dance and that 
was the new shadow of us. something trudged up- 
a chorus of water, and the crisp repeat, 
the 5 second beat. 

"as though the choice was mine". as if i wrote that honest. 

i am the king! the king damn it! 

my chains clack, melee 
with the grass

what is known is heart, far gone,  
 drip-dried

it is dew on chains, rust then, or grass led
to the dirt where her hands dig, (dug)

where i see her bones and mine. 
for the king who loves

he cradled me in his mouth and was silent for most of it.
her ground is somewhere north of mine

in fields of grass with the tallest tree i climb and see 
little images of her sprawled in text and something phoneme
exists there, sure. like i would trap her in language, 
in me, in me! 

as if sex were important 
or romantic, 

or like christmas comes and goes and all the stale cookies in the world 
couldn't fill me up. 

but i am the king! 

and my tears are strange, and longing. 

chicken is a bird, 
  i guess my clucking 

...
well held back 
i crown 

  and she is the lost head. 
  see the glint 
  smash to the floor! 
  its price of plastic  
  i pay for 
  word by
  worm. 

and where is the apple again? 
where is the gold of her hair? 


*
i have ribs today, toying with
my heart. ha

i am the king!
the foppish fool.

my heart is the crown that knows it.

*
lol. :p

*

one year ago:

  you walked into a song and became it.
  and i sing it under my breath,
  just because i love you

which would be enough.

but i am the king!

see:
it isn't.

this bleak

is when eyes criss-cross the stars 

rather heart.

golden lamb breathe, the image 

i sieve that midas linger, that 

brood of his, that thistle on the dams edge

it spoke of this 

needling at her legs like the words 

fell from his tongue and crawled over

stone, i think i saw her  

over by the bridge

a gate by it. 

i went to speak, to say hello, 

nothing brash

the sky was closing over me, and 

a flood of crows swept my vision

to see rabbit to see hawk

and the idle crunch

as i lay myself before a gate

maybe the wind will shift it, 

maybe tomorrow when the birds 

are still, or the field is cut to pieces.

bill and sally go to the stars

they find rainbow, they free
judas, they hold hands

it could be love, the shine - the syllable to make lips
move like treasure chests and the pry bar so rusted
that when you slammed the car boot it flaked on the
side of the grass which i had just cleaned of her
blood.

and she was everything: so fatal,
sounds of love, forlorn as bee wings
dripping honey into thought, i spread 
my legs for you
(she thinks) but i thinkits that tender thing again, that she
knows seed is the link and the flame.

or that was blood mouthed- when he was cradled in his early life, swaddled by the lamp and the shadows
of flowers cut pretty and placed on a dresser by the mirror that she will never love, or be kind.

once we danced, spittle on my jaw, i called her mommy or sock puppet, i made a pose which she threw up on, i was jade beneath the well lip, the burlesque of ripped flesh and crushed peanuts

the rainbow soggy, my mind limping; fly-blown
and under sweat; your heart was my heart, and we have disease

we have trees which we watch grow in the evening

we have sally and bill

mouths open to the stars

and the tender hand

fisting each of them.