Martial

[Aish]

---

Last summer I was the horseless Alexander,
building monuments to conquests I would never make again
while men clamoured for recognition
of their two-footed stumbles. I could not turn off the sun,
so I hid under their skin. Perhaps you could move 'I could not turn off the sun,' down a line? These two lines are exquisitely descriptive.

For too long we burrow,
burn and sup at complicated tables,
with tongues and hands helplessly divided. Tongues and hands helplessly divided reminds me of the Tower of Babel.

What good are accolades, shining shields
and ceremony, when the earth itself
rejects you? An embittered end.

I don't have any real crit for you, Leanne - I am enamored with the organic agony of your writing.