a descent into poetry insanity |
| can they be toy soldiers when an emperor calls? no green stamped army for his burial— eight thousand different faces guard the east, each one unique in clay serenity. buried in mercury and the screams of the living— they face the dawn, ready for two thousand years to march, at their emperor’s call. all the king’s horses. all of his men. line count: 15 Author's Note ▶︎ |