• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 03


It’s just a joust, a tourn-about,
that hand-high topple from the mount,
from height-mare throne, lost dignity,
a tourney shoutout for a quest
to cast from record, shadow rank.
This listless man’s accoutrements,
claw spike for pike, lanced pole and spurs,
a windmill tilt with hastilude -
did he depart the melee, seen?
Shield, banner draped, by squirl less swirled,
silk colour screen, hint tint of print,
who crowns his helmet with a shoe,
sole standing, knight’s tale, pilgrimage
to find himself, soul exercise?

Uneasy read, from form oblique -
with field unseen, no quarter given -
I have to turn it by degrees,
compute the angle, adjust steed,
the level taken hindmost scene?
What was the preface harnessed there?
Who filled the gap in manuscript,
with painted words for frontispiece?
How long to tumble story line,
unjumble clutter, clatter hooves?
Your answer, what that quest’s about.