Tuesday, August 16, 2011

King Machine

Photo V. art courtesy of the Deep Ellum Foundation.

Twas a night of a particularly vicious massacre, that the king, so impressed with the mouth that could present death as victory, basked in all his glory. He took in the sight of slaughtered trophies. Heads sawed raggedly from their bodies, and blood, deep black; glittering in the midnight moon. He felt an intoxicating elation, and grabbed the cold, gold, handles, to the the universe. As he opened the door, he savored the scent of decomposition, ascending his being. So proud was he, that brought a nation to its knees, by the simplicity of complicity. He closed his eyes, and whispered, “I am King Machine, no one will ever conquer me.”

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