True colors lock
by sixteen cones
His royal mirror,
his only code

Inconspicuous,
rainbow king,
more caterpillar
than serpentine

Rotund thorax,
modest limbs
One might be fooled
to warden him

Sifting coral sand
grain by grain,
How could this seabug
rule his land?

There will be blood
They say “thumb splitter”
one vainless punch,
with spear and club

he breaks his God
if not the kingdom,
if not his lunch

Sifting coral sand
grain by grain,
to comb for remnants
of hells they’ve payed