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The tyrant’s cot and chewed blanket
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…
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Hannibal ad portas
“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…
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On the fringe
Of what can I boast? Health to whom none will toast A worthless person, worse by the toke My dispersing purse and erstwhile hope. I am nursed by the castaways of merchants My emergence makes them nervous My clothes are mouldy and need detergent Living the life of an urchin Or an army deserter, only…
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Holding court
Deep, gravitous speech like a priest He the husbandman who checks the cheek-hue of east each evening We his sheep girdled fan-fashion about his fashionably unfashionable feet Like children seated upon the cerise knee’d lap of a gift-giving beard laughterful Yet feared, his list updated yearly like a menacing tax-tyrant’s bible of tithable denizens.
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Our lady of the cinders
She’s the only one for me Her singular soul a source Left one rose Blood dripped from her nose This one’s a sniffer, spends all her dole On single glass slippers Hoping the Prince won’t notice, witness How she kneels as if asking forgiveness in the shop of a priest, sinless. Got the bends in…
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Alchemisland 