Whether memory or myth, the story states that
he was born to starkness under a starless sky,
desolation and darkness his welcome into this
shitty prison, the lowest contender
to the charcoal throne, mouth thick
with ash and aspirated shadow, the black marrow
of ill-mannered ideas. They called him pretender
when he rose as Usher of Abandon, murmured
scorning words, meant as warning, taken as
praise, their anger evidence of his ascent.
He, for us, stripped shame of its control,
tore the teeth from their wrathful mouths,
and gave us back our most powerful weapon:
yes.