Presidency Poet (Eight)

In poetry I find sumptuous words
of nostalgia, if pronounced with 
the ardent zeal of the orator might
struck highly hegemonic in disposition; 
so I sweep my fingers and say what 
I want to say every time in virtual 
space that litters with old photographs 
of my ancient royalties

where 

Marbled corridors are a
reminder of the opulence of
youth laced with otter minds
that hummed opium songs
in opal afternoons of
odontalgia -which resulted when
words, more words got entangled
in the tooth beds of
expression.