Priestly, kingly, crown
held aloft atop
the mountain chain
of smoke billowing
frames,
reactors in chains,
leeching the sane,
occupied and refrained against
the sub-will
of all holy and moly
and burrowers of the ground,
the gem-takers and soul-searchers,
crafters of the ancient halls,
smooth stoned,
widening and closing,
the breadth of an atom,
falls upon the void of a million,
stars stuck in spinning rotation,
ceaseless until the final simmering
of space upon space
where no sound
is made,
make me a king,
a king of nothingness,
harkening and free of words,
the unordained,
the simplicity of a bookless shelf,
all the royal information
for the fingers to reach up,
grasp,
solemnly touch
the liquid that forms
the electric streams
and billowing steam of
the atomsplitting force
of the mind,
the fire,
the
lighting
bolt
of
man
on
high
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