He said, Look for the hill where the ragwort grows, the slope where the dog-rose climbs. Meet me tonight with a brick or a stone, with a bottle or a bottle of rhymes.
So I went to the hill where the ragwort grows, the slope where the dog-rose leans, with a half-brick wrapped in a carrier bag, with a copy of Big Issue magazine. spartacus mmxii
I’d known of him, the legendary rebel, the gladiatorial slave who’d broken his shackles, who’d raised his own army, who’d plundered his master’s grave. He said, Look for the hill where the
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. I’d known of him, the legendary rebel, the
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.
