In the midst of a dew-dipped, still morning
My head feels corrupted and it is almost as
Someone has crawled in, and rearranged something
One foot steps faster than the other
Picture frames look unbalanced
And I feel the need to straighten them
Hands that lift up off the table just aren’t mine
I need to smoke but can’t seem to find the ability
I open the door to 13 men-facing one way, along one wall
Putting one flat hand against their heart, mumbling
I feel they are standing on top of me
One day, you can be the king
The next, just a simple court jester
This very morning, an encyclopedia-sized document
Is my armrest, and I calmly say “certainly”
And I gruffly say “never”
And I strongly say “one day”
This pleases these 13 men
Which pleases me
Although I may have just started
A war within my palace.

09/25/2010

Posted on 09/25/2010
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