In court with the current conqueror
we can laugh about the others. “He
doesn’t look like he takes care of
himself,” said Alfred of Paul. Later,
cruelly, “he is a child and an asshole.”
Of another is pronounced, “he is a
twat.” Preferences in neckties, in music,
in authors, these are all called forth
and sharpened as weapons before
the eyes of the glad traitor, who despite
the vicious gleamings is never struck
dumb, who holds like a key inside of her
the store of raw material. Memories
under heat and pressure turn into
diamond, the hardest thing there is.
She knows whoever is most often
made a fool is in fact
owner of the throne.