Two Octets

The lover penitent
blood scrawled on fields
like a diary of pain
where the lie was born
in the shadow’s rapture –
some resurrection plots
like Guy Fawkes,
the parliament must change.

The electorate trepidates
sedate, stampedes pontiffs
like Galba, Otho, Vitellius
a parade of victorious apprentices
til the clap irons welded
alloyed, cemented, brooked
no tentacles of forgiveness
flung from the bosom of Hades.

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