The Nephilim of Croghan Hill

6 foot 6 in 100 BC
you peered up from millenia
of dead stars, your nipples shredded lest
the tribe be once again victim
to your serpent milk

and as the elders gathered screams like seeds
you remember different stars, better skies, the time
you married Ireland as a White Mare
sent from Tyrconnel
and brought a harvest to sacrament

but the night had found a route
by way of Cromm Cruach 
and the same dead stars wired like white eyes
through the holes in your arms
were harnessed with rope to hold you, Fallen Angel
we did it to feed our children 

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