broken son

haughty-cocked atop a tower revolving I
stood flexed and hardened thighs
a soldier bristling urchin spines
marched in files across your majesty

the curdled verbs in you sent hurling
echoed down a granite shouldered slope of man-unyielding

iron crowns of right cast shadows
veiled a sure collapse come-looming's tragic tumbling

a toppled crown and flailing arms
shattering in shards of flint upon the ground
where fragile found amidst a mess of crests and spines
my broken son lay bleating

and I without the craftsman's glue
stood remember weeping

a blossoms' eye
wet saucers of a faun
whitened flesh of apricot the tender cheek
a giggling daffodil's trumpeting naive
that tickled once the ears and eyes of those who crouched to hum and coo at you
before the sin of pride ballooned
and soured your milky feet