“Here is my ring, I will not marry him.
Come and take me away Attila, you strong man
save me from this run-down world
this cesspit of censer incense and lace.
Take me away from middle managers and scheming
mothers. Away from mosaic gold and lapis.
I want to ride your pale horse through the hordes
I want to feel alive when your enemies die
I want to be something more.
Here in Ravenna, we live upon the debris of the past
we build on top of the layers that came before
every church and tenement tower are rubble piles.
The breath of life that God used to wake us from clay
swells and circulates over and over again,
like the old story that every cup of water
contains a drop of Caesar’s piss
so each brick and piece of marble
is a remnant of forever.
How long is forever?
I don’t want to find out.