Distant heliotropic light ensconsed
in the many folds of his void--
disconnected avenues,
corridors constructed by kings,
dizzying divergent roads in a rat’s maze of
uninviting warmth’s phlegmatic chill.
Here he extends his arms upwards
peregrinations toward the light
bumping into blank walls
sucked into molten pits.
His march toward defeat.
He genuflected before power,
Engulfed in the infarction of altered light
Bent like a man who has suffered a skyscraper’s plunge.
A king’s bedeviling disablement.
He dreams.
And his dreams surround him in a robin’s egg hue
Held tenderly in the cupped hands of a dwarf.
They sweep away the last vestiges of his non-humanity.
And the path appears unbent before chthonic powers.
The king looks weaker in his gossamer raiment.
He, stronger in his dreams
Struggling to the top of Jacob’s ladder
Upending his quisling soul.
The king sits forlorn in the blue light.
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