the crown was heavy like an oil lamp bolted to a block of black marble, strapped to the surface of a neutron star with a strand of hair from a severed head of Guinness and all promises. the king stared out into the palms of his hands and cast his eyes upon the kingdom of misrule. contemplating the arc of His royal arroz. mindful, that for every grain of truth, a sack of arrowheads. And for every bag of rice, a happy surf.
He lifts the embargo and now openly trades bards with competing Theaters of War and Peace. Boldly poaching inspired contradictions and holding court with renown arguments to the contrary; always feasting at a long, narrow table in an oblong chamber of proprietary stars.
He lifts His Eldorado, and now his back hurts. Having never learned to Bend The Knee At the hinge of His stride.