Perfect World

in the perfect world
there is a king 
whose breath smells
like John Wayne’s 
plague sweat

in the perfect world
there is a queen
who has moved 
mountains to make
grand graves

in the perfect world
their armies carry
guns of gold and 
can stab you with
a sharp flag

in the perfect world
you are a creamy poster or
a near-white song of victory
a mascot on the sideline
a horse to carry their spoils

in the perfect world
the things they’ve stolen
back them up or lead them
like suicides
off your cliffs

in their perfect world
you are the Elder Race
they call upon to charge
their teams and weapons 
with magic

in their perfect world
they don’t exist
any more than you do
as they are individually lessened
to increase larger perfection

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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