I am not a king
I will never claim to be
I am not the guy
everyone worships

I am the guy the king calls
when He wants someone dead
I am the assasin that creeps in the dead of night

A gun ever present
always on my person
scars from past fights
covering my body
my face
Scared and mared

A recovering
forever recovering
coke addict

a man not afraid
to Beat the **** out of someone
and then get paid

A hitman
A killer
a monster

the beast under your bed

I am not worthy
of a tittle such as king

I should do something
i think
maybe the world will just end
and the clock just ran out
eventually
at least that way we could value time
value
so lost in this miserable space
infinite
black
chaos absolute madness
rationalizing is for the minds
it is cordial,
friendly,
but what then-
left to dwell here trapped
ensnared
mared by experience
to know makes it worse
then, you.

Falling pink petals
Plinking my head
A saxophone serenade

Kind of kind of blue
A solitary birch among many hundreds
Of deciduous trees, its paper

Bark scored with age
White among shadows
And the endless breeze takes me up

Into Tiffany-blue sky
Pollen clumps litter the edges of lawn
Calliope streaming from a mared and seahorsed

Carousel dances in my head
Disobedient canine in exodus
Defiant against the silhouette

Of a circled dog
Line diagonally cutting across
Wah wah wah as the ducks in the pond

Are chased away.
Endless verdant day criss-crossed with
Walking paths and robin’s-egg sky punctuated

With drifting cotton shapes.
Brazen squirrels accustomed to the pleasant
Bustle and hustle

Bat City, unopened, in my lap
Mothers feeding children
Hungry mouths to breast.

Seeking out a lemonade stand
Near Winter Street in spring
A yellow burst of sour notes sing

On my palate
A bargain at a fiver on a day as this
Soundtrack peppered by buskers and

An ***** grinder turning the crank on his street ***** and
Birds and
The woo of occasional sirens.

A mother wheeling her child along
In a stroller
Mohawked, tattooed, pierced lip and

She smiles on by.
Ivied brownstones and balconies railed
With wrought iron

End our stay
On this idyllic day
In month of May.

You're a woman now
It's the tone of your voice
You don't need me now
It's no matter of choice
You know what's the best
And I do too

Your face is mared with the words you actually feel,
But your words reach just short of the faith inside your heels
You keep on reaching, keep on reaching, for the things you don't know how to feel
                    
You're a letter opener with a dull end
You're the face of stars hiding inside your head
You're everything you've hidden under your bed
You're  an oasis and you're running dry

Just stop trying,  be who you are, without a care, be the girl with the curly brown hair