the cords that bind you
and make your heart feel sick
and with a serpents girth they
and with a serpent’s tongue they lick
and there’s no escape from
and that saliva glues you tight
through it’s acrid scent you
and it keeps you from the light
no hero feels so
‘less their fate’s held by a witch
no magic here just
and a bed made in a ditch
no prophecy so solid
no prophecy of gold
just a place for you drinking morning dew
swaddled in the cold
your existence is humble
your existence is crime
you’ll meet your end trying to ascend
by bathing in the grime
ashes of contraband
ivory of new means
a carnival of hoaxes long
abandoned due to hunger screams
iron lanterns light dim emotions
and now you taste frantic evacuations
in the air, along with the smoke and grease
and in that smell is a lie of peace
the invasion had hinged on lubricant smooth
a contortion of proper discussion and truth
and so with all the redactions went
any worthwhile shredding of reason or proof
the abattoirs binged on the noble and just
as their betters redrew the sides
and the crowds were at their largest
where the invaders said “form a line”
dreamless I sleep
and slowly doth creep
madness into my eyes
so I forget how to weep
and commit to the feast
and scream up into the skies
and never compromise
and assume myself unwise
and that’s how boredom dies
crucified on marble beams
stoned to death by gems
the battle has no victors
but it is a gambler’s friend
essence of escalation
bright Captains all but fly
but the poisoned hawk is faltering
circling lower all the time
no visitor to this gaudy war
can have thoughts of escape
to burn and heat the gilded baths
is their every fate
no visitor to this gaudy war
will ever have their day
the amber sun blooms brightly
over the burial ground
washing all the crypts and stones
with astral warmth abound
grey clouds mask the burning disc
and turn it lily white
and rains bear down on all around
scouring all in sight
a conflict in the heavens
abduction of the light
but moss and hooves without this strife
would go into the night
the white disc lacks the amber’s fun
and is seldom a welcome sight
but amber rays are slow arson
and you’d burn without the blight
ruby with rage
and stultified by it
he rotted in an exile
of his own design
stunned by the vast of it
flat, frozen and hollow
he looked for a gate
that only he could make
but he corroded with every futile hunt
his theories of culprits were nothing but junk
his heart seared and blistered
as he waited for visitors
but none came into his dusk
and married to fury
he fumed ‘til his body
was nothing but a husk
Rather than a man made of bone and flesh,
this was a man held together with mesh
of arcane slant and ethereal feel,
and the whole effect was something far from genteel.
This was a man who had not known pain,
whose only experience of life was gain;
but all of it tempered by unknown pressures…
the vagaries of an unknown assessor,
or maybe the ghost of a former endeavour?
This was a man who looked good in the mirror,
but out of it cut a much less dashing figure;
unlike the rest of the human race
who see in the mirror an uglier face,
and wish they’d been blessed with so much more grace
so they wouldn’t need worry for their next embrace.
This was a man with the smile of a shark,
blank and mirthless and searching and strong.
The mouth seems all nice but the eyes say attack,
and the laugh seems all flat and the pupils too black;
and you feel there’s a surface just aching to crack,
and a creature within wearing skin as a mask…
and you wish you could give him an almighty smack.
But that’s not ever been the way that it works,
and you can tell that he knows this by the way that he smirks.
The fragile proposal broke upon
the shore of authority blinding and strong.
The capital, filled with predatory scions
had not a single ambulance.
The brittle idea was left alone
with nary even a flirtation.
Now pagan heresy was comatose
the heathen had reached the terminus.
The chaos was rendered horizontal anew,
and never would see it’s hundred goats bloom,
and never would see it’s heresy loom,
and derelict ever would be the new doom.
Imagine if you went to uni
and thought you were studying anthropology
but it was actually arthropology
and you’d ticked the wrong box.
Imagine the gravity of this mistake.
Now you have to look at spiders all day.
Really big ones, all up close, no excuse,
and have them all running about in the classroom.
Big fucking spider sat on your lap,
just like the rabbit you treated like crap.
Should have paid attention.