Lord of Misrule

Page 6 from Une Semaine de Bonté by Max Ernst

In her image the sun made me
round and ornately petaled,

burning and erupting
in feathery plumes. Don’t stare!

I was the Sun King.
Shadows radiated away from me

like the teeth of my enemies
strung on a reckless necklace.

That’s not a mugger’s knife
but a prisoner of earth’s desperate attempt

to pick my lock. I was, after all,
the state. Why must I now perform

for the forgotten and forgettable?
Why have I not limped like a blimp

into the humped clouds? I can’t seem
to shake this legacy of lead,

asteroids roaring in the vacuum
of my farcical heart.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

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