The Emperor forgot to wear his clothes.
Constituents fell into clouds of Fools
from steaming golden leeks cooked in the pot
burned black, when the water boiled off sticky
temple tangled sentences with empty
words, while all the interns kissed the Lizard
of crossly Knights. Monkey shouted, “Lizard
get some air, and our leader back in cloth!”
Monkey gave up yelling at the empty
headed lights, floating up the Yangtze. Fools
don’t sense danger when their brains are sticky
cells of grey glop. They smoke a lot of pot,
and anyway the garden’s gone to pot.
Rabbits chewed the carrots and Lizard
Back-o-gammoned while the imps drove sticky
wagons on a search for royal clothing.
In looking high and looking low, the Fools
forgot, and sure enough the gas was empty.
The naked monarch screamed, “Find me empty
space! I need to piss rum, my, where’s my pot?”
Rum Man blamed the Monkey, who blamed the Fools
who always blame Rabbits hounding Lizard
smokin’ Cajun “Ah – EEE”- wearing silk clothes
from Barneys on Madison. He bought stick
dolls on three inch stilettos, who foolishly
thought they deserved a Hampton House of sticks
and bones – legends from the mist all Lizards
believe. Until the telling time empties
all trash, all waste into the sacred pots,
the Monkey wants the Emperor in clothes
now, before the Fools run off and empty
all the golden pots of sticky treasure
into pockets of Lizard who wears clothes.
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