Swim your way through a crowd of kings
cloistered within beige walls and business
edifices
accentuated with
symmetry-plants and barkdust artwork.
Stab'em with with your elbows and sharp wit
these kings of modern America of gentle-
dress who are unlike the old kings of
slicked-back hair business-suit cast but
a more devious cache of false empathy;
of environment, poor folk, fuzzy mammals.
Let them in their down-soft sweaters sweat
at the sight of a real man swooping
onto their scene and station-wagon party.
Let them tremble that they are not who they
shed their skin to be and that the world
knows the truth.
They'll control us as with a switch-board
like marionette with string as we curse
them under our peasant breath and in our
meager homes
to wives. They'll demean us 'mongst
each other then speak down their noses
to ours.
They've no shame them creatures of
lust sin desire much like the lowest rungs
who we think our selves better than.
They can't help but screw
each other—strong-dicked and
weak-willed they make their wives cry
all the time.
These kings will crown one another with titles
of glory and humanity citizenship.
Burst open the showroom doors and
explode the applause sign! Its sparks
burn our hair but we gotta
scream and cheer
on these the ubermensch caste as we
clap sweaty palms out of fear.
Here!
They are the Modern Men, bold and brave the
product of centuries of enlightenment and a
not a pinch of feminism. They'll dominate
us all till we choke on our glutenous bread
and are replaced by other stupider men
who will see their wisdom more clearly.
