at the fat prince
in his high keep, keep
the huge box from whence
Deumus will arise
in the form of a great plastic
truck to trod on
your spine as any
lover would; lotus crown
redolent atop the poisoned
well, poised to snatch
the circus back from Madaama
of the blue blood; flip the bird
for a trident, your bladed
UFO, whisky in a jar, the-mace
heads of the liriope adjunct
the churchyard. Dig up the
roots & trip the cosmic flash
grenade, a blinding
white light across the
crucible before disintegration.
Hold a single
soul in a gnarled claw. Nothing
sacred, everything
severed, no stone
left unthrown.
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