When my ancient, crumbling regime
finally gets tumbled down,
brought down low by the boredom
and general fed-up-ness
of everyone around me,
it'd be nice to hope for
a warm, soft bed
and a forced exile
somewhere
but no, there's a fence post
planted by itself near the city gate
and there's a man out there
in the noonday sun
busy sharpening the point.
I know just where my head will be
someday.
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