• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 03


Every night it never fails:
the horse intact, the knight impaled
upon a dream of lancing skill
with subtle nuance and finesse
that lasts until a new knight falls.

For even if you lance a lot,
no guarantees it all works out -
You lose a momentary grip;
the horse gets tied up in its silk.
Another knight’s mare keeps you up.

Right now, it’s all just more spilled milk,
and tears to mark the noble shots.
The sponsorships, the easy marks,
all rooting for their jousting wills,
their hometown kin spurred ever on.

Off kilter at a rousting speed,
the balance is an act of fate.
The challenge comes too hard and fast
to counter gravity and weight,
the entropy they implicate.

And so the armor tilts askew.
heads toward dusty path beneath.
Dents will show what pride cannot:
embarrassment beyond a state
where metal cannot save a face.



You live to tilt another day,
to ride and aim and take a shot,
to savor crafty gamesmanship
to rise above defeated thoughts.
You gallop on, still fall from grace,

another knight in endless space.