Now we’re on the Border:

Tranquillisers are no good for what is to come,

Nor are religious beliefs of any sort.

Divert your mind, the manuals say,

Space and the collected tranquillity of bees,

Appeal to me

Speed is now slowed to a drone; a quill,

A quintessence of thrill

For these bastards

Are only minutes from take-off

They say

Nothing impresses like force,

And this Nineveh was once the high knot of Christendom,

Flinging stars at the stone kingdoms of the night.

Festooned now with these fucking black flags of brutality

And me, here, all alone:

 The seventh son of a seventh son,

 The prophet of a prophet,

The Twelver of antiquity.

Alive, for a moment,

Within this veiled prison of heat,

Stripped of emblems of identity:

Hair, nails, name, toes, head:

Made anonymous

My debris may well explode into this heavy air,

Temporarily bleed into the sand

But we will still stand like

The monuments of Nineveh.

.