Wednesday, November 26, 2008


this is the first of 40 people of my long poem entitled "Lanchire Nights"

a path
around the moat takes you to the tower
the gate reveils a medieval city

inside choirboys beat the independent with willow wands

crown royal drags
feet with chains
to the wharf

THE EYE of the castle blinks shut as
guards toss heads
like bowling balls into the wagon

with no necks the heads do nothing
but plot a revenge party
with reservations for six

a grand ball
with gigantically wide yellow dresses
fill the arsenal


shield shattered

gold penny stolen

the coat of arms burned

the commonwealth in the Stone Kitchen tavern grabbed the heads by the hair and lifted
to show the end of the reign

the dead smiled and the living cheered as

artist could now draw the correct porportions on the kings men
(penis and testicals)
fiddlers could now play what they coulnd’t before
jugglers could now use balls
(they were forced to use flamming kittens)
and the prostitots never laid eyes on another horse

dead heads can still smile

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