Inkling of Kings

A King has an inkling, sitting alone in his chambers, through the hearing of ritualistic tinkling, of his kingdom’s bells, his bells, Hell’s King’s Bells knelling, King’s Hell King’s Kingdom, alone, mourning alone,

Of a king’s blunders and blusters, the very bluster a blunder as inexpressive of king’s illegal ineluctable tender bleatings, the king in himself nothing, alone noting, king of echoes

A King is spellbound, as the spellbinding, weaving of faint and fading shadows of sound, portray, the decay of order, the ordering of day, bells echo the day, no expansion or proclamation or opening, though

A King rules with brio, excess, or why else be King? To be servant of an entire kingdom– you kidding me? It is common to be a commoner, average to be an averager. Common and average to fret, worry, quibble– and nibble. Excess of rank, and the King, rank with excess, blusters with sinful stink, Hell’s King’s Bells and King’s big balls, on display, their stink reaches far,

Is broadcast,redounding, the rank smell in excess, swelling and ascending, in a word– ruling, as the averager, the commoner, recoils, for the ruler has broken the rules. The ruler has broken the rules, the foundation of his royal rule!

This weaving day, weaving the echoes of bells, weaving the echoes of the king, weaving the king’s rules, weaving those the king rules, into his extensive stench, including the judicial bench

The serfs, not yet a “people”, don’t like it, don’t like the blood, sweat, and tears of the king’s black bending bell-balls dangling, or maybe purple, or bell nipped when nipple, sweat sinking and blistering stinking down into an orison, one or many, ringing bells in prayer drenched