Welcome to Versailles, Where Hypocrisy Reigns

There is a corner of France where spools of humanity 

unravel in winding jets of ivory wax, contorting 

until hardened with the stolididy of his mouth

as he propounded that all robbers were to see

the guillotine. You could smell it on his 

breath: the cool tongue of deceit that 

swayed in mid air like sister Mary's 

gnarled brooch. Swayed like the

four noblemen, stonily laid

across horses that snarled

frosted plumes, their

chests puffed until

cloaks swished

and they were

gone—

Like sticks swirling 

downriver, someday 

that carcinogenic lump 

of malpractice will land. 

Someday, we will slip through 

the slashed aperture, vengeful fingers 

grabbing at prized jewels with the greed 

of his tithe tax. How karma swoops! We cry.