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Princess Amalia of Orange.
My dearly a caterpillar
with the sheath fads
deft early lambaste
for long, tit for tat
as done your path
anew and buoyant
its wind itinerant.
I tell her she's my muse
I'm that wuss susurrus
she's jello, she's juice
lair mood sesh hiatus
to fall’s rustling loose
rising roots surplus.
You please earth's pets
silver, as gold’s heat rent
I remember a smelted yet
by a lack of choice silliness.
My encumbering best
soils my diaper scent
as breakfast tilts tent
so a drawing contest
for a better sentence
impressing its parent
it is data orderliness
love’s first sign sent
telling of a progress
today it is earliness
by good morn sent.
I shaped her weight
brittle as a thawing lake
demure with a heavy pace
over each other, we met again.
I'll unravel from her mind
when words meet their cliff
stop in chase of their design
her mind's back hills feelings.
She brings the basket
the market called it debt
fed with a birth she rejects
right row veggies stay fresh
spinach, even carrot shelved.
In a memory shower
rusting unending bower
our faces’ turns, our hours
wheeling to exist raining louts.
No one told me that a bachelor lending me some advice would lead to horrible husbanding as my current conditioning, which still remains a big inhibitor to writing poetry—demands I'm thrifty with the juice’s output.
But poetry is like the cast of a broken arm; it’s also comparable to tomatoes—if, with a broken arm, one is unable to harvest now-ripe tomatoes oneself, telling a best friend forever to watch out for the crimson vegetables would suffice, this same morsel token would be enough for any of Elon Musk’s robots.
Poetry as a first descriptor, a multiply signed body-shaped hold for a thing fragmented. I almost feel like the robot voice won’t someday have a partner and become married, but I'm convinced it could one day win me over to believing in a union.
But this poetry book has been delivered, and I hope to write another for the princess as she clocks 22, two hundred short of 222—my favorite numbers.
Where humans shine is in receiving thank-yous, maybe that’s why I have said none to my poor bachelor friend. But first, I’d love to say thank you to the royal house of the Netherlands with His Majesty King Willem-Alexander, Her Majesty Queen Máxima, Her Royal Highness Princess Catharina-Amalia, Her Royal Highness Princess Alexia, and Her Royal Highness Princess Ariane; the royal house of Spain with His Majesty King Juan Carlos I Emeritus, Her Majesty Queen Sofía Emerita, His Majesty King Felipe VI, Her Majesty Queen Letizia, Her Royal Highness Princess Leonor of Asturias, and Her Royal Highness Infanta Sofía; the royal house of Sweden with His Majesty King Carl XVI Gustaf, Her Majesty Queen Silvia, Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Victoria, His Royal Highness Prince Carl Philip, and Her Royal Highness Princess Madeleine; the royal house of Belgium with His Majesty King Albert II, Her Majesty Queen Paola, His Majesty King Philippe, Her Majesty Queen Mathilde, Her Royal Highness Princess Elisabeth Duchess of Brabant, His Royal Highness Prince Gabriel, His Royal Highness Prince Emmanuel, and Her Royal Highness Princess Eléonore; the royal house of Denmark with Her Majesty Queen Margrethe II Emerita, His Royal Highness Prince Joachim, Her Royal Highness Princess Marie, His Majesty King Frederik X, Her Majesty Queen Mary, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Christian, Her Royal Highness Princess Isabella, His Royal Highness Prince Vincent, and Her Royal Highness Princess Josephine; and Great Britain with His Majesty King Charles III, Her Majesty Queen Camilla, Her Royal Highness Princess Anne, His Royal Highness Prince Andrew, His Royal Highness Prince Edward, Her Royal Highness Sophie Duchess of Edinburgh, His Royal Highness Prince William, Her Royal Highness Catherine Princess of Wales, His Royal Highness Prince Harry, and Her Royal Highness Meghan Duchess of Sussex.
Thank you to my family, friends, my talent manager Yesjulz, and my literary agent Abigail Bergstrom. I love all of the Cows.
