August

she kept her armor world
a world of tears suppliants
grieving palms beating
breasts breathe
marjoram breathe embrace
dissolving into empty air
still dragging out my life leaves
the slightest breath of air will
scatter visitors unlock her lips
and sing my one lapse
a hundred altars riots of
flowers set ablaze wild as
a top a hundred brazen
bolts and iron strong forever

July

for so vast a frame
the thin remains of ruin'd Troy
they march obscure in
order painted on the wall
curious work all
parts resound with tumults
indigested foam and morsels raw
the mounds the works the walls
for ornament besmear'd
with filth and holy gore
poets worthy their inspiring god
open all the furies of her face
the clowns a num'rous rout
but all of naked men

June

few in number but each was a war-man
famous for trumpet and spear
loaded with gorgon poison
his senate men of meager substance all
a race of men born from the trunks of oak trees
and there were the gauls
and there were the tufted caps and the shields
the poor fool
his beautiful head bare and like a jewel
frothed and muttered
now with prayers and now with bitter jibes
it is no new thing
the wounded wild goats eat it
aloof aloft alone

May

aloft with their wings whooping
--a miraculous thing--
we saw them
one only shall you miss one shall be lost
where only wild things lurk they go
the birdless place
sound and resound
yelling out remarks--some proper some not to record
not as a rumour but through an official message
my own lost comrades changed into birds
were hotly debating these controversial issues
a bouquet of white lilies blended with as many red roses
weaving a skein of flight in the fine big halls
off she flew

April

arrive and cut Libya's thread
(it's a marvelous story)
but she never bothers to catch to replace or assemble the verses
bastions started no longer rise
here is the beast's house an intricate puzzle defying solution
belief in the story died long ago though it lives on in rumour as folklore
a mixture of words worth reporting words worth nothing at all
his songs were always of horses
a knot to frustrate any blade
a work of quite monstrous weight stamped heavy with crime
whose shimmering lustre lingers
while they continued contentious internal debates on disputed issues
he no longer dreams of Achilles' fine horses
far removed from the halls of the mighty

Epigraph

si quid mea carmina possunt