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. 

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