Whose guts garland the dogs of Troy / Not Patroclus' shoesize but close enough & a vixen to boot I’d sent them tighter pics the definition would have been the bind focus on the blood, not the teeth while Garmr, loosened from Hel’s gates, prowls beyond its page think scent, not blood always a dead giveaway O what a naughty boy his pleasures, his pleasures. How they cleaved an ache so raw and shelved it Priam’s eyes turned inward, grief chewing Patroclus, the one most loyal to Achilles yet, he stayed on the shores, amidst the stink of a thousand men of grief, when Achilles would have walked away, Patroclus donned the armour of the nymph son, will there ever be such as he, Patroclus the keystone, just a boy the death of princes and the fall of troy whose aforementioned dogs wore guts as garlands as Helen polished her nails while the men did what they always do and the crickets being the insects that they were, turned their backs and rubbed their legs and foretold doom and blood and a win for the Saints
Whose guts garland the dogs of Troy / Not Patroclus’
14 December 2009
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