by Cora MacGregor He who once, child-like, wept, seeing needless Death, now, clad in bronze, attacks a fourth time. Ablaze with another’s glory, heedless, Like something inhuman, like something divine. In costume, playing once the hero, but already The god. And dormant ambition is freed: Instinctive, his spear in his hand steady, As he […]
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The Poor Print 