Mmxii — Spartacus

And I’d heard of his final battle, the last stand, and his crucifixion there, and the famous story of how his body was never found anywhere.

And as the sirens wailed and the choppers clattered and the police piled out of their vans, he grabbed my arm and he pulled me clear, and he melted into the crowd and disappeared.

He said, You can’t see the chains for the rust. You can’t see the whips for the scars. You can’t see the crosses for the dust, but we’re still fighting where you are. spartacus mmxii

He said, You can’t see the chains for the rust. You can’t see the whips for the scars. You can’t see the crosses for the dust, but we’re still fighting where you are.

And we stood in the rain on the traffic island, at the roundabout’s broken white lines, and we aimed at the badges and logos of business, at the grilles of the four-by-fours, at the windows of showrooms and the revolving doors. And I’d heard of his final battle, the

I met him at night by the boating lake where the fountain jumps and plays. He said, Don’t be scared. I am not a ghost. I’m not of those far-off days.

And a whisper came back, a coded message, an underground password and key: If you want to see Spartacus, come to the park, come to the park with me. You can’t see the whips for the scars

We flared and we fused in the halo of streetlights, we danced and we dived and we ducked, till the shop windows rained, till the windscreens wept, till the airbags burst and the bumpers bucked.