what it ate . . .

beheld a dragon eating glass, it bled not from its lips

its spears were buried in its head and some about its hips

it looked this way not more than twice, a smoulder swam it’s eyes

its chest was large as glacier ice, no pounce was in its thighs

it chewed its prize quite hazily, it seemed to say relaxe

if it weren’t content there lazily, one flap would come its axe

for who was i, this bit of man, who eyed a beast so relic?

could i complain, could i protest, this lion so dark angelic?

the glass it chewed was many-hued, the tale it told was shattered

two thousand churches his breath had spewed, two thousand torn and tattered

i looked at it a dozen times, and imagined i was larger

and one last time it peered at me, to show who was more in charger.