Chester’s Box

planes running into buildings
Michael Jackson dead at fifty
old newspapers
here you sit
seven inches higher than
the rest of the world

you are a king
with eyes of jaundice yellow
with the voice of a field mouse
sitting on a throne
of memorabilia

you are invincible
but ever so cautious
they watch you with daggers
hidden in their palms
scheming and crawling on all fours

but there you stand
a king, nonetheless
over the tiniest kingdom in the room

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