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.