Lancelot Nostalgic (poems from old notebooks, 2000-2003)

Can’t nail down exactly when I wrote this one. I remember having a lot of fun with it, though.

Lancelot Nostalgic

And when I had ridden to Camelot and passed
Through its tottering walls and stood
In clashing thought in all its musty halls
And watched the circled mountains spin
On the axis of the lake till steam rose up
To calm them and soften their steep green—

When I had ridden to Camelot and betrayed
My king upon his own satins
And tapestries and bathed my drunken head
In water warmed by ancient wood
And groped the servant girls and pinned
The youngest and kicked a squealing pup
And told lies about where I’d been
And how close to chivalry I’d strayed—

When I had ridden to Camelot and cast
Myself like a stone into its brawls
And pissed at the foot of its mossy throne
While the priest mumbled over matins—
I buried faith with the rest of my dead
And offered god a loan.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, John MacKenzie, Poem tweets, Poems from old notebooks, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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