dauðalogn (deadly calm)
“our rituals and our cassocks are pompous”, Mancini
Yup, Gregory, he did not go milk the cirrus heavens, sky mares or his god
for the chant, Gregory merely stepped it out onto the cobbled streets of Rome
when that bustling city was still in its sexy heyday, good or bad,
depends how you embrace it, and escaping out round the Forum -
he’d fucked off his vestments like old ship canvas. Kicked them in a heap on the floor of his room.
The full Prince Harry, Gregory just shook himself then into the white toga of a commoner -
sought the songs of the heart where these were sung by boys, old veterans,
slips at corners for their supper, – his curls in a cow’s lick, – or all round the Pantheon...