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