Go my poems
Go my poems, with fire by your side
and the blind eye of a falcon
with the rage of a Mercian king
and the turning manner of a great affair.
Go with a voice that gathers against itself
and with the fury of a city
that has forsaken its prophets.
Dance through the belly of the wind
by the apostate heavens
and death's own moon,
where no last truth awaits.
Of ecstasy and of green-eyed sentient beauty
sing, requiems of grey imperium.
Go where seraphim reign
and their wards would not follow,
by the barren lands of purpose and faithless interlude,
its raiment of colourless Ode.
Sing the heresies of a thousand discontents
the traitorous fates,
their devilish lanterns
and broken song,
and by their silences know your way
distance upon distance
to the end of a pharaoh's line.