The Loki Throne

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A little bored,

A little angry

With the world

Aging February

Slinks into

The Loki Throne,

Fingers the runes

Carved in the walrus ivory arms,

Speaks the Words of Summoning

That draw forth

Ice-harsh winds

That whip and claw

The earth below.

Reactions of the mortals

Bring a grim, satisfied smileto

The corners of the cruel mouth.

February dons the Misrule Mask:

“Light you fires?”

He mocks in whisper-voice,

“To warm the bones

That you borrowed from clay?”

“To purify the ground?”

“To summon the Fisher-King?”

“Mark my words well

You Sons of Passing Time:

Does he listen for your call,

This tree nailed,

Twice drowned fool?

“For answer, cast your eyes to

Your stuttering fire:

I doubt it!”

 

22/2/2013