Let us, the lowly, be thankful for the offerings
that fall upon kings with their secrets.
Let us, the meager, stand in admiration of the magnificent fingers to heaven,
the antenna connecting above to the gawd glass and those within -
those beneficiaries of manna, those chosen manifest.
This is true gratitude:
that we, with scant plate and skinny bone,
ask not why we are starving
but why the crown is not fat.
Enough of that.
Sovereignty is of no concern to us now -
(The last we saw of monarchy in epic literary proportion
was when literally reading Shakespeare.)
Democratic convention promises equality and rings freedom.
(Ask not what freedom is nor who has it
for it rings and it rings
I myself exorcise mine here. First amendment. Mine freedom
in pen to paper forgetting the cost of the leaves' last breath,
forgetting circumstances (they make not freedom so).
This is the land of the law given right and the bell tolls for choose and choose again.
Here, there is no king, no.
Here there is freedom
even for the low.
The senses are dead. Something about my work goes here.