The
empire of flat stones has no
Determinate
boundaries. It appears
When
it chooses. Three stones together
Are
enough to call it forth with its officers
Banners,
bangles, flashy furbelows
And
a long line of emperors
Each
of whom has a court artist
To
immortalize him and an umbrella.
My
time on the throne was brief;
I
have lost touch with my officers
And
had to sell my banners, my bangles and –
This
hurt most– all my flashy furbelows.
I’ve
kept the umbrella despite its missing rib
And
its stubborn refusal to open.
No comments:
Post a Comment