The wars: we're drawn to them as if in fever, we sleepwalk to them, wake up in full stride of nightmare, blood slippery, mouth deep in their gore. ̺ ̺ ̺ Even in @3Gilgamesh@1, the darker bodies strewn over stone battlements, dry skin against rough stone, the sand sifting through rock face, swollen flesh covered with it, sand against blackening lips, flesh covered with it, the bodies bloating in the heat, then hidden, then covered; or at an oasis, beneath still palms, a viper floats toward water, her soft belly flattened of its weight, tongue flicking at water beside the faces of the dead, their faces, chests, pressed to earth, bodies also flattened, lax with their weight, now surely groundlings, and the moon swollen in the night, the sheen of it on lax bodies and on the water. ̺ ̺ ̺ Now in Aquitaine, this man is no less dead for being noble, a knight with a clang and rasp to his shield and hammer; air thick with horses, earth fixed under their moving feet but bodies falling, sweat and blood under armor, death blows, sweet knight's blood flowing, horses screaming, horses now riderless drinking at a brook, mouths sore with bits, sweat drying gray on flanks, noses dripping cool water, nibbling grass through bits, patches of grass with the blood still red and wet on them. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SOLDIER LISTENS by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER AN INVITE TO ETERNITY by JOHN CLARE THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE VIOLINIST by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 22 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |