In bubble cars it’s hard to see the kingdoms of the earth, but beyond shatterproof glass there are monsters, there are men. I walked the sidewalk once, and hugged tar shoulders where the sidewalk ends. The trees that seemed so innocent are castles. Fragile branches house whole armies and their kings, kings that spit commands like silver string, whole books of laws laid out in spiral patterns, saying everything. In the world rain falls like cannonballs, though behind my bubble’s wipers I feel endless, I feel safe.
We false kings carry ourselves above the ground on rubber wheels. Till we can suspend our bodies in the air with self-made silver light enough to fly in the wind, I refuse to wear my crown. And the patience to rebuild our place in the wind with unhurried hands each time some thoughtless creature mows the lawn.