in the perfect world
there is a king
whose breath smells
like John Wayne’s
plague sweat
in the perfect world
there is a queen
who has moved
mountains to make
grand graves
in the perfect world
their armies carry
guns of gold and
can stab you with
a sharp flag
in the perfect world
you are a creamy poster or
a near-white song of victory
a mascot on the sideline
a horse to carry their spoils
in the perfect world
the things they’ve stolen
back them up or lead them
like suicides
off your cliffs
in their perfect world
you are the Elder Race
they call upon to charge
their teams and weapons
with magic
in their perfect world
they don’t exist
any more than you do
as they are individually lessened
to increase larger perfection
