The King Would Love to Meet You

The king is now a silly thing upon whom hangs the fool

who’s taken him to school to teach him what the deeper rule

of ruling is: that fooling is that deeper rule, and playing is its mode:

and generosity is its unending weather, not the tether to morality

the king may once have thought it was: although the king now can’t 

remember what he’d thought before: whatever he had ought to be

or should have been resides now in a bin of useless memory.

Memories are fishhooks you don’t need when fish delight in leaping

out to greet you. By the way, the king would love to meet you.






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