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The Outrageous Fortune of Monarchs

my bones
my bones are fit to crack from
the electricity coursing through my vines
& even the blackbirds will sing
past the plan of a beetle on its back
or so
the magnets in my feet tell me

but even so
the cinema behind my eyes never closes
not for all the tea in your pockets
& even then
so worthwhile if i declare myself pope
is your cherry-colored relief

even still

but wait

this extensive vocabulary that explodes
inside the caverns of our sacred hopes
setting sail
to spiral out in lavender veins
my epitaph
delightfully inscribed on your catacomb walls
so much lighter
& fewer
in words

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