This is the title of a new sequence of poems I’m working on. Here’s just one of the sections.

 

II

 He has gathered many heads

They are the trophies of his encounters

With Death.

 

Their eyes gaze at him in adoration

Their mouths shape the syllables of his name

Their ears hear only the song he sings to them

 

Which tells of how he severed each one from its body

And held it up for the whole world to see.

 

At night, by the campfire, they encircle him

And the light of the flames animates their features

 

They smile and weep

They gabble and gibber in a strange baby-language

 

Until with a raised hand he quietens them

 

Stitches their lips

And turns each one outward

 

To protect him

From the endless and empty dark.