i will be there with my knees upon the cobblestone waiting for coins
and trinkets, scepters they grasp with white knuckles until they hit the ground.
their silk robes—now tattered and caked with mud—will kiss my hands
as i seized them from their plump backs. the gems from their crowns are mine
when they skin their foreheads and let the ruby drip, brighter than the jewels
that adorn the tacky caps grazing their mortalized heads.
as they lie there i will climb upon their marble thrones and steal their beds,
wives and all, and i will speak of their nature as gaudy fools
who are the product of some unholy being's eternal patriarch design:
i will bound myself to the tops of concrete columns with leather bands
and wait ever-so-feverishly for the hooting calls and cheering sounds
of those below me with a deep-seeded burning tussling in their loins.
i will rise above these dreaded kings and slaughter their earthly toils.