He was the proud type,
but not the proud/arrogant;
there's a subtle difference in that,
a matter of inches,
like the difference between being kicked in the thigh
or the shaft of your dick,
it's an important distinction.
He had skin like leather
that frustrated and repelled the mosquitoes,
or so I am told,
from Hearst to Manitoulin,
and they only take the bad blood anyways.
The power in a name is the
power of humanity
-language-
and part of a true, tribal culture
stronger than any
Disney/Top-40/Americanized, mechanized bullshit,
that is now art and meaning.
There is no meaning,
and he meant something,
a peasent king among the forresters and
tens of offspring,
and yet he would never
stand on
anyone's
shoulders or throat.
Pure greatness need not make apologies
war
or twist words,
because it mercilessly hammers
at the dull skeletons of the competition
or those unworthy,
and somehow stupid enough,
to stand in the way.
Maybe the great are pushed by
something
beyond free will.