The King’s Basement Bedside manners are extra prayers empty, As succession entropic acts A new stamp a new head posted to Ipatiev House . Usurping timorous laureation we must to Ipatiev House Search engines at the ready, to calculate the difference … a falling blade, A spike, a headshot, a poll ending with a hung result. Coronation words and celebratory foods, chicken, charcuntery, and inertia Until when the poor will eat promises All unusual and active vectors orient to Ipatiev House, The Rite of Passage for all kings. Search engine differentials calculate the museological relevance of a meat-hook, or a headshot, a poll resulting in a crumbling Bourbon end. Big fat hands gasping for air – as entitlement is to justified, as ascension is to basement.
Comments
I'm about two months slow on the uptake here, but I enjoyed the excerpt from your "iff poem" posted on the magazine's website.
How long is the poem, and is it all in the magazine?