Going down to the library, I found it in Freeway Park

In Dad's old brown briefcase, worn & mildewed.

Latch stuttered open: a nest of wide-rule homework &

Ryan's cardboard crown, black & stapled; constructed

That arts-camp afternoon in rain. Across the brow,

The stroke & flake of sky-blue tempura, "TRUST".

Eleven points in a tatter of silver stars. I couldn't

Recall the coronation. Breeze came as I cradled,

Jagged. Dry with two decade's dust, my lips

Traced forgotten fibers. I couldn't resist--

It still fits.


The boy prince awoke
To a field of yellow in stereo.
It had been a long nightmare--
His eyes still shadowed,

But it was morning and the dew
Clung to his brow naked of crown
Weight. He propped himself up.
From the window: pelicans cycling.

Here is a new day.
Let us melt our sorrow
In butter sun and devour
Chocolate & cashews for breakfast.

This day-- fresh ground--
For a boy whose given robes
Were of deeper royal hues
Fringed with moon silver.

The yellow revolution advanced
On kitten breath. Monarchs
Might get bit
Before bedtime. As usual.

What remnants of innocence
Last night before he fell
Asleep after fellatio?
Or was it just naivety plunged

Into slumber? But the yellow now
Has all the hopes of lemon
Rinds that quench & kill
Teatime boredom.

Open your eyes wide, prince.
This empire needs the warmth
Of your watching. Your black crown,
Cradled on its blue velvet pillow,

Bloomed a fourth dimension
Over the cricket hours.
It shall shield you hereafter
From both mob & master.

Press the middle sapphire
And a hidden garden gate
Will swing a gap open in time
For your escape into these headphones

The crown also grew. So hark these exquisite
Loops that carve the air
Into humming fractals.
Loops that curl the air

Like strumming minstrels.
Hearts that swoop thru air
Like plummeting kestrels.
Hoops of nerves netting air!

Blue prince : Black crown
----Yellow background----
A synesthetic throne.
A scepter of amaryllis.

Do not bow to him--
Less grovel more rock.
Do not kiss his slipper--
It creeps him out.

He only wishes he could smell
The textures of your inner loops.
He only wants to touch that sprig
Of rosemary in your mind.

This is the Theatre of Wonder.
The only humility is in awe.
The only cruelty is patronage.
This castle stage is gelled

Together with strobes & synchronicity.
The universe rules

When to pull
The curtain,
when to drowse
the canopy.

The prince coughs at your censers
Of sativa & poppy. The levity
Of echo & clover sustain him
Pretty purely. Freely. So, play:

Play, Ye Kelsonic Sages!

Play loops and subtle filters!
Play the joy from your shedding scars!

Play for this boy who gushes stars.