Rains suppurate, skin separating between lashed brands
Clouded discharge alarming, excresence pearlescent
President resident among his men, given evidence
Enemy mancers harness magics blackest; package
Placed alap on doublet’s hem, nose-wrinkling opens it
Features cringing as upon hearing a bad poem
Cones his nose with posey
Producing lettered bodkin, dirk known merciless among mercenaries
Unsheaths it nodding, letting it take air
A blade from dark fantasies insatiable
Leftover from ancient ages, its strange-making spites time’s anonymising rages
He blade-capable moves his package lap to table, sawing final label
Able now, but Cain, to see the box’s contents, he haunted is
More than gnawing constancy of leadership, a fizzing
Deep in mine of his mind senses symbols of unsettlement, dizzying
That internal palace whose insurmountable palisades he is vizier over, a fissure runs through like a missing river.
He sees a vile, evil king’s visage
Lists of men killed, names of pillaged villages
He has kept only the weak, willing and idiot
They will issue his missives and develop strange submissive tendencies
He with whetted tip parts roseate crunched tissue with lips pursed
Marshal April Aries brow berried dripping Mithraic essence.
Bands of pale, mingling cirrus, armours hanging on tent nails like ghost mail deflamed by day
At night flailing animate, wailing, a grey thing therein arrayed
Swaying bodiless around the armoury, witnesses told “you’re codding us.”
Ring of bulbs making a maiden’s face around a shield boss, like battlefield braille
Stirrups jangling in the war camp, ten times a circus size
Sidearound mad charioteers with rigid liberty spikes spiral circuits.
Everywhere mires made from lands no more managed
Helots vanished, vanquished or deposed by famine
Or marching amongst those ranks, across slippy duckboard planks
Bone strewn layer of a second Avanc, in faraway greenfield Flanders France
Staying mud, blood-glazed, through which wade
Warriors dismayed, trade’s difficulty contrasting pay’s lack
Trackless travails ratlines changeable mazeways.
In the hands of my angry god mansome foe-gentling hammer
My axe I named Taraxippus inflicts startling damage, maximal in its advantages
Life arms race spent waiting for a device to lengthen the arm
Studying fading yards between raised pyke and horse’s eyewhite
Tip of arm scrapes barding, equine armour shining
Waiting to the last
Spearpoint forced through, faster by its own momentum, crunching plate
Destrier in supplication alofts forelegs, casting off his man
Swept chest-struck onto mud, muddying yellow vestments
Four legs ungrounded at gallop like a bounding dog.
Alchemisland 
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