Abdication of Fairy Kings

Long green dribble through a forest scene
like Thoreau’s trail only paved,
high capped oaks and maples set up as a canopy
for pig farmers and shit hoarders;
for the two-thousand dolls sold on the road side
store so old everyone has forgotten it’s still there,
hours posted, ignored, in obsequium,
the long dead hobby handler, like a blueberry stained
harvest worker, burdened by the name
the finger ring, the elopement, the abscond,
the feathering abdication of fairy kings.

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