Part celebration
Part separation of church and state
And what a state you’re in
Yet you’re in urine again, drenched
Playing one more role

And rock back and forth
Fifth fist raised in her honour
Yet grace is too far gone to be saved
Any more
Takers, callers, claimants

For this rusted old throne
Decaying and declining like all the long
Forgotten empires, not Rome, not Byzantium
But all those places

That crumbled and collapsed into dust
Long before they could write a legacy
A mere footnote in some left handed
Scrawl, loose, lost and faded
Like beauty, like hope

Pinned up, perfect on the wall
Perhaps existence makes perfection
Or tarnishes it with all the silt and shit
That this life has to offer

So fall down to your knees and wash
Yourself clean, subservient, obedient
As the crown and the gown are passed along
And you’re passed by once again

If petty is as petty does then
Pretty soon you’ll find all of us
Watching, poking, idly provoking
With a short, sharp stick to prod

Part celebration, part mutilation
Learn your place in this state of flux
The body politic and the mind made for war
Leviticus, leviathan, learn your lessons

Bleach your blood blue and bow until
Your knees wear through those thin clothes
You’ll fit in once it is fitting and
Not a day sooner, son

3 thoughts on “Thrones

  1. I’m reading this not long after seeing Elizabeth Sax Coburg aka Windsor looking at the Game of Thrones sword throne and watching her edging around it curiously. You are iridescent here – true to your foxy name!

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