RIGHT ONIONRABLE PICKER, SIR!!

0

 

YUA

Your words are coats of power.

 

You wear them

in distending layers of authority

 

and everyone falls and

cr

um

ble s

under the Kilimanjaro

of your onionrable weight.

 

Powerful Onionrable Picker!

 

Your tongue wears

the shape of the planet Earth—

a sweet prison raping its subjects in bits.

 

A stony onion you are:

Gra du ally,

you blunt the edges of

the hoes that made your heaps.

 

You craft your own gavel

and, in it, growing ghosts of spites

roam like madmen in a sweltering desert.

 

Ever-right Onionrable Picker, sir!

 

Do not pick these words

with a glowering heart or a mind

that burns like Brother Sango’s eyes.

 

I am but one of your subjects.

I praise you in the name of power,

that brewery of intoxication

that steals senses from the best of men.

 

Do take my bow,

for here I am before your lordship—

myself, a camel with stretched neck,

poised for a drink from the lips

of your lord-ful river.

 

Onionrable Picker the Most Powerful!

 

You are powerful, sir!

You are onionrable, sir!

You are the Goliath!

 

You pick and fling

the threats that blight your self-ful goals.

 

Take my bow!

 

 

 

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