When I die, take my horns, shave them smooth and thin.
Strip the sinews from my limbs for glue.
Ash is our best wood:
straight-grain piece
from fallen bough.
Cover with my hide
strong as you can draw.
Carve a thumb-ring from my thighbone.
My spirit will fly with each arrow from your string.
Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Aged Minotaur to Grandchild
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