i am the king to be
four men stand beside me
arms interlocked
my cabinet of ex-lovers
and sad admissions

we whistle akimbo
dire songs of our cocks
angel-hearted
maniacal
but oh so sorrowful
like marxist pamphlets
like fathers as viewed
by their sons

ive grown quite thrilled
by my own genius
weakness deserves itself
hands fold into themselves
fractal wringing
endless as yeast bubbles
exacting as taffy production
this is michel
he had lips that only smiled
and edges of cowardice
which Boiled
the same temperature
as prestige

holy headed
and derobed
he could use an editor
beset in a dark room
crawling with crazies
faces the size of walls
single use but revisable
the king to bes heart
perchance my zipper
of the taste of candy
michels weird ass movie

then forrest
dioramic eyes
a cartoon tunnel
painted on a brick wall.
the sound of a knocking motor
inside a refrigerator
you forget hes there
until he breaks down
together we were poltergeists
lighting matches
only seen in the reflection
of darkened windows

there is a blood stronger than blood
the way the true wolf isn't the wolf at all
but the coyote who looks
most wolf like when it yips and yaps
in spontaneous unison
forrest taught the king to be to
vomit and laugh even when
nothing is funny.
my first smell of dust
and the sneeze that followed
twisting away
minuet vortices and sound waves
reside within the king to be's forest.

i don't want you to think
of me as some fool.
a tarot card figurine
an idle apple of the spinning earth
black stars
untelescopable
toronto my love
where the pope beckoned
and you came
in a tent for the first time
rolling in escape
doubtful of your own womanhood
that lymphs depict your soul
the king to bes lawyer
seance minder
recipient of various what have yous
spreading in secret
incubating revolt within a balding skull

age tempers resolve
ive given in to thoughts of carcinomas
clouds which perspire
kelp flavored snack cakes
holographic traffic lights
eyes hidden behind thunderstorms
the drunken indignation
of one's final hours.
in the future all will be adobe
children raised
like plastic wrapped food
in a microcosmic microwave
its not your fault my love
that fallen fellows flock to you
you collect neuroses like antigens
and have yet to become immune
my love toronto

and there sits the ducal heir
of garrisoned rage
the patron saint of river dams
anesthetic
and turgid social norms
i am the machine that desires
and only in such desire
can i exist
and when that desire turns red
framed in lust
it is the unnamed knight
which unsheathes his sword
he says i am beautiful
and i deserve love
so aint it such a pity
to have never worked out

it isnt penance
its just the way it is
the unnamed night
tells the king to be