Floating Up The Yangtze*

*The following is my revision of my non-traditional sonnet, “Lizards Wear Clothes.” I’m updating my Poetry Book for print and this piece seems relevant twenty years later, unfortunately.

The Emperor forgot to wear his clothes.

Constituents fell into clouds of Fools

when steaming golden leeks cooked in the pot

burned black. Heavy water boiled off sticky

temple tangled sentences with empty

words, while lowly interns kissed the Lizards

of crossly Knights. Monkey shouted, “Lizards

get some air and our leader back in cloth!”

Monkey gave up yelling at the empty-

headed lights, floating up the Yangtze. Fools

don’t sense danger as their brains are sticky

cells of grey glop. They smoke a lot of pot,

and anyway, the garden’s gone to pot.

Bunnies chewed the carrots and the Lizards

Back-o-gammoned, while the imps drove sticky

G-cars on a search for royal clothing.

In looking high and riding low, the Fools

spaced out and now the gas tank is empty.

The Naked Monarch screams, “Get me empty

land! We need to piss, Rum; Christ, where’s my pot?”

Rum Man blames the Monkey who blames the Fools

who always blame Bunnies riding Lizards

who eat Cajun AHEEE, wearing silk clothes

from Barneys on Madison. Rum Man sticks

Stiletto Dolls on TV stoking Fools,

then buys the Dolls gold houses made of sticks

and bones—legends from the mist that Lizards

believe. Until the telling time empties

all trash, all waste into the sacred pots,

the Monkey wants the Emperor in clothes

now, before the crispy-fried Fools empty

all the golden pots of sticky treasure

into pockets of Lizards wearing clothes.

© 2004

Yangtze River