The Bird King is dead.
What was he?
He was a vampire shrinking from empty mirrors wiping blood from black bristles burnt feathers
He was a giant maggot oozing in a throne a toilet his excremental seat of power the chair a shocking sight the chair killing him frying in the chair’s blue embrace
He was a fool telling impossible stories unable to cope with the simplest of things doors shops television conversation memory crisps road markings the silly billy
He was a poet who hated poets
He was a fop in flamboyant attire a right pretty boy pretty polly strutting peacock decorating himself for outrageous displays of virility look at me look at me preening in a blaze of feathers and fabrics
He was a tyrant a dictator a bird-brained autocrat
He was a monster a man an animal
He was a poor little thing quivering with desires longings despair
He was a sadistic experimenter hatching bad machines bad babies bad dreams sending them out to harrow the world make it a hell a mirror to the hell in his head
He was a hapless nobody an Everyman fumbling in the dark stumbling tripping over obstacles bananas words
He was a daddy a mummy a creator a maker a broken god
He was none of the above
Now he’s nothing
The Bird King is dead
The Death of the Bird King can be purchased here.
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