Sunday, 3 June 2012


Cancel the parade. Cut the elegies. What's the point of this stone/pointed pressure so refined/inverted on our spines as they crisscross to provide a loving nest? The beasts that rest in this land and spread flame afield/enjoy the shine of the capital/but rearrange the characters/it's the same carbon as the rest of us/So let's square the circle and circle the pentagrams/truth is /truth is unity/truth is unity can be divisive/conspiracy/counter intelligence/Jedi mind tricks/Bow ties and champagne toasts for veiled violence/and flag burning street dances to break silence/like a pane of glass on Tarmac/I've got shards in my skin/needling this vanity/hungry to be heard/vanity wrapped/mummified/entombed/preposterous/Until nothing remains inside/vanity defeated by the passing of time/outlasted by every crafted covering/ not to honour after all/to reduce into ignoble obsolescence/ exposing fundamental indecency/ frequently/ overlooked/ but not this time/ anniversary of ascendance to an unjust pedestal/ never happy however memorable/ it sticks in the memory like windscreen in a joyriders face/ change the pace/ destroy the gears/ and the slick sick trick fairground machinery/This royal flush is demeaning you and me

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