Whom then shall I say were
Bland or bent?
Deign to stand aside
And squeeze your tongue
To hold your honour.
And though some may think it
Presumptuous or vulgar
Unrealistic and overtly sanguine, perhaps,
I shall tell
The world regardless:
"Live up to your music"
From the half-dead hype of the
Bygone slew and court the slice we were,
All of us,
For then to inherit.
Cocoon of some wounded timeshare,
I tell the world
That worship sank the Armada and wild
Cats have been roaming the hills
(The wailing of mute barbarians
And yet, for all this, only, I've thus far been given
The slice from your spear to my side;
Rank spew amalgam for
Then the Centurion to stand, and raise
A half-empty glass, cold
For all I've told the world over
In thousands of sleeps
I cannot now remember,
Not a whimper.
Have sealed the gates again, and
Sidle down the lord;
Ripping flesh from whence