we were glad our skin had been
broken the heads were cut
from defenders 150
women of the castle over-
whelmed by steaks
of fire we were reduced
to nature's garb there is
trouble in my bosom
the blind prophet
had a squint
bound into
the boundless
on this blank
sheet of paper
the mythopoetic
cabbage it's summer &
large spiders
are entering
the house.