Unwashed heathens laughed hysterically at some insipid banter
about liberating literature written by the orange prince of liars.
No more would one consider valid this pauper’s false discourse.
The former king and queen sailed from Neverland’s sinking shore
to bask in 24 hour light shone on the golden land of promise.
Billy died in random gunfire from white robed prophets
as he sang his sanguine song of forgotten redemption.
Mourners fanned the fire with wings of silver and gold
as they flew over his funeral pyre of piñon and sage.
I slept outside the walls of confinement to a solitary flickering candle
in a cave by the dead city where hungry ghosts refuse to enter.
Only a singular white dove survived to tell.