Procession

The bloated corpses of unsolved murders
and old revolutions,
pirouette and dance with the wolves
in the final procession
down the muddy Zaphar.

Their dirks and daggers
as the instrument of their
death and decay.

As I look on,

with a handfull of the future
and a belly full of the past.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Lleian, in the year 80 MA.