Long Live the King Who Long Lived Without

A chip on his shoulder.    
A splinter on the joint of the upper limb — away it is blown,  
ground out,    
buffed over.    
    
Long live the king. He long lived without.    
   
King from ideal,    
not an obstacle which assumed the make of the body's tune.    
   
Fire head    
festered of salt    
and purple lids sunken to the cheeky bone.    
From child hacked out the home    
and in poverty of wantedness,    
she buried a hope in a sand dune,    
and a storm whittled the thought.    
   
Long live the king who long lived without.    
When the walls of a borrowed hood sprung arrows of doubt,    
that the creature temp-housed between federal aid and charity,    
the deafness of a neckline    
neutered from collar of stratified race in undignified work,    
the proletariat burst onto the mulch of the bed    
and returned to the colleagues of hungry    
as skewered blockheads of lamb.    
   
Long live the king who long lived without.    
The silhouette of his credit misshapen of gout.    
Quacks and sorcerers and queers bumbled about,    
"Long live the king who long lived without."    
   
At the stub of 18, I lived without.    
Ontogeny pruned the polka pear to a Brusseling sprout.    
Into the years, I grew a stumpy cruel snout.    
Rumor of my banishment clamored about.    
   
I thumbed my lump snout at the sun

and shoved it the crushed green sprout of the sputum of my tongue.    
A dandelion seed floated about in the wind that flung    
my heart into another flux rustling bustle — white catch in the palm.    
   
Long live the king who long lived without.    
Long live the king who long lived without.    
Long live the king who long lived without.    
Banzai. Viva. Mabuhay. Huzzah!