Six minds were

in duty bound.

My forehead,

a banding of

history and pain.

Take my head 

clear my throat,

drain my humours

quaff my life.

L’addiction 

s’il vous plait…

was our feast of thin

dogs, cats and rats.

Six souls are iron due

their reckoning comes, 

as dark blood warns

of an end.

In barefoot dance

to grace a King

thwarted no more,

all hope fades.

I wear trappings

of the nearly dead.

My sackcloth 

ground melded,

this necklace 

is a hemp noose.

Keys will undo our 

puzzling ways.

A ceding of our

thin lives, dwelling 

forever in this 

twisting wind of streets.

An alchemy of leaders.

Our pain dug

hard lined faces.

Six places, six necks: 

an amuse-bouche

for a blood stained axe

Verdigris is now

my colour.

Though mortal death

never came that day.

I have had long

to weather and think.

A patina of heroes,

an anger of kings

and the power of

a women’s words.

©️ Dai Fry 5th June 2020