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Tristan Without Islode

May 14, 2015

You and I will get back on the field,
Rubbing against each other’s armor till a spark files,
Becomes translucent blue;
A blue light in a dark that spreads around nothing;
A movement of nothing coiled,
Fighting for nothing and burning for nothing,
Burning burning boy.
A gyre of flame licking the black sky.

Am I the only one who can ride by night?
I can because I bite my lip till it bleeds blood red,
But the horses smell blood and get nervous,
And you yelling brown tree bark,
Till it scratches my ears;

But I can listen away because I know,
There is a love potion like in the old tale;
A calming balm I can slip into your drink,
But for now I still hear the teeth gnash like,
King Mark’s chain mail,

But there is no King,
No Islode;
There is me playing god and I don’t even believe in god.

I’m lost and then I’m angry.

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