each generation should
have a monarch.
I would press my
white shirt with
sharp creases and on
one dark navy knee,
ask for purpose
through forgiveness.
each generation must
have one life
given wisdom unadorned
by desire, uninterested in
dialogue.  I would lift
my light gray felt hat,
and hold it to the side.
I would take
that blessing or
listen without recourse
to the sentence.
there must be prophet
somewhere, not in
hear-say, divine or not.
I would prepare
for days or weeks
or more, the sinews
of a chest less flesh
than bone.
in knowing in that
audience was the
offer to atone.