my kindgom

i drink a beer
and this is not a throne
but actually a chair
i put together,
that i bought
at IKEA.

i swear
i'll quit
one of these days,
but this cigarette
tastes so goddamn good.

i judge
from my third floor apartment window,
my tower,
these noises
that make me their feast.

it's just about closing time,
and the drunks
that mill about the street
below
are only looking for a place
to go,
just so long
as it's never home.

i haven't had
a decent conversation
with another human being
in days
and this only happens
when
i just want to be
a little more new.

who i am
becomes itchy
and i move,
but it's nowhere near
the kingdom
i want to go.

so
i grab another beer
and proclaim
that i am the king
of all things
divided
by vapor.