To Slaughter Sparrows

Ascend these soldiers, their wings

Are called for humble graces, my kings

Shatter goblets and countries, all likely

A blithe performance, certainly

Our Prince Reaper’s harvest growing

Devil taps a nail, song spun on bone

And down, down descend the soldiers so

Quarrel flocks like murders flown

On wings, wings of steel and oak

Yet Murder! Murder! some village somewhere sings

Far off, death’s still a tragedy

And up, up and up that body floats

Light as feathers in powdered smoke

Punctured steel and sinew rends

Life like life casts itself in pints

There they march, brave souls

Romanticizing stupidity and casualty

Ascend these soldiers, their wings

Tire and dread their marching, my kings

Dismantle borders and throats, all likely

A blithe performance, certainly

Our Prince Reaper’s harvest growing

Imp tracks like infantry soles,

Souls sewn up in taut sacks of thousands

Thank the ephemeral ghosts don’t decompose

Else Hell’d be an insufferable home

I’ll have your head, but may I take your coat?

Yet Thief! Thief! some city somewhere sings

Far off, this arrest’s a fantasy

And up, up and up that body swings

A thief dressed up with final prayers

Silences the crowd with stuttered feet

And crow croaking as his bough creaks

An elegy fit for kings