Striving to rise above the heavy collar of my poetaster title I believe I’m entitled to engage in odd trifles, bouts of striking Which escalate to rifle snipings, knife fights, and reduced stipend Wishing my Christian kisses were fissure-wrested diamonds Miner’s lung pie flung paint stripes upon the sky near sundown Like ley lines upon… Read more: An Emperor’s Favourite
Tent of meeting How must breadeater’s treat votive meats? In a way our carnivorous Lord finds pleasing. Tentative about speaking, need to know basis Nameless, faceless, code-only communications. Is there such a thing as afraid to win? Given me, all that kings have would be wasted Rot does not dissipate fresher-caught tastes.
For the last time: Hannibal ad portas! The formerly studious now permanently stewed crowded port casks Dreams of reamed flesh, fresh blood spilling as from poured flask Sad bedhopper dress dropping showing guests a ruined back, poor lass Above the mantel beside his campaign cutlass, master’s paindrinking lash My drink he ensured was poured last… Read more: Siege year
Fledging Rome knowing only wormbegging poemsongs As throng the ere-longing throats of recent egglodgers. Lacking planting balance to remove one’s own socks without falling Soft-pated, showing flashes of patent fury that they’ll make their fashion. Avast this Carthaginian rabble Will the well-trained legions of allegiant Rome, wolf haver. “Is that what the books say?” One… Read more: The tyrant’s cot and chewed blanket
“Hannibal ad portas! Hannibal ad portas! Hannibal ad portas!“ Three times the evil tribe’s sighter cried out, so worsenings by lore arrive. Having completed his report, that sorest decree The breathless scout fell down unrestoringly, ensured of glory’s leaves. To flound’ring heart his yet-unstoried hand brief clamoured The foundling died without further sound, unphantomed unto… Read more: Hannibal ad portas
Alchemisland 
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