Dream Song 33: An apple arc'd toward Kleitos; whose great King
An apple arc’d toward Kleitos; whose great King
Wroth & of wine did study where his sword,
Sneaked away, might be. . .
With swollen lids staggered up and clung
Dim to the cloth of gold. An un-Greek word
Blister, to him guard,
And the trumpeter would not sound, fisted. Ha,
They hustle Clitus out; by another door,
Loaded, crowds he back in
Who now must, chopped, fall to the spear-ax ah
Grabbed from an extra by the boy-god, sore
For weapons. For the sin:
Little it is gross Henry has to say.
The King heaved. Pluckt out, the ax-end would
He jab in his sole throat.
As if an end. A baby, the guard may
Squire him to his apartments. Weeping & blood
Wound round his one friend.
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