No love for Kings

I don’t bow…
no kow-tow ing
to kings,
middle finger
to rotund bums
in 34 frequencies of legalese,
but I’m not the felon
but the poet…
stark refusal
to kiss rings
of men with nussy
on neck
who has habitually
disrespected
my sensibilities
in lieu
of being melaninated
and mighty
unflappable and adaptive…
I persevere against evil,
it runs in my lineage
that is glorious.

Let me spit words
in a hurry or a slurry
but in
the elemental force
of poetry…
the harlotry that
I see in high places
nothing but fealty
to debauchery and inhumanity

No salary is needed when the ravenous and morally derelict
feast on
the folly of
fools and sycophants.