Masked and mounted on an F-15 from Lakenheath, he is cutting edge
circling again and now again Grime’s Graves where the spear began
its flight towards flintlock, towards no-man’s-land and moonscape.
How to clear the forest and all its fears? Dig pits with seven
antler picks to the flickering of a chalk lamp in the shadows
with a phallus and a white goddess heaving to give birth to blackness.
Flint will carve an opening along the Icknield Way and split the carcass
of Europe into skin and guts and meat and bones. What remains will be what he owns
and is beneath him as he spins thunder from the cocoon of his own silence.