Oh Napoleon in your caskets
why did you hafta mess it up?
It’s not that i’ve reason to care
here on top of your Arc of Triumph
celebrating the farmers, dead bastards
buried cold, scattered families told to feel pride
as your consolation prize
Did you feel unloved or just condescended?
You under willow tree squared up in St Helena’s rocks
Was it ever enough?
When did you plan to stop?
Perhaps in your next circuit
we have a baguette and talk about the good times, you know them all
listed in marble next to your heaving pompitude
over wine on the Seine
tell me when the fire started –
when did you know?
Just a couple answers for me because i’m greedy too
thirsty for life
questing for quiet and paints over battlefields and
did you not realize the power of restraint?
the art of deflection?
Now on Champs, i’m not sure
your reflecting face
at odds with the dereliction
now, where you are
do you room with Caeser or the saints?