Knight errant

mace and ermine the fur swing and
slip and each tooth another long
story another scar for my inner thigh or
the palm of my hand

enough about me.  there errant and
not losing so much as where the map
still is no more territory stretching to the
tattered edges of the land the parchment extends
spreads out over cliff faces and in
outdate, even antiquated, but I digress
needle and star and long lines scrivened to
mark circumference
spreading out over oceans
over "here there be dragons" over
empty empty lands seen once, on shipdeck
with a spyglass and a broken compass
and where these newfound lands that track out beyond the
burned maws and where the blustered
boy to brain them, carry their flesh back to feast,
and, flushed in vinyard volumes, mark the map to
history

I am tired and the stretch falls away, land long
lost though mapped and stretched and staid