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Image for the poem The King

The King's Fragments

His reflection comes away in shards
Scattered pieces of the jigsaw man
A bit of glitter despite the bleed
Each fragment a revelation
Red eyes open on the mercury
Still can't resist the tweeting
Lips still lying even split
The chin remains divided
The red comb-over an atrocity
 
All his minions, if finally seems
Are loathe to make repairs
To fit the fool together again
He can persist in pieces,
Blathering on a West Wing floor.
Written by crowfly
Published
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