Friday, 1 March 2013

Fourth Estate

its getting cold down here as the light of attraction flickers out,
the filament between our worlds burnt through leaving
no words that could any longer move so
what say we raise ready the fist of revolt,
or would you have us wait,
consider instead the royal topiary, the garden behind the silk fence exposed
by  freedom’s self proclaimed saviours overseas, cursed yet envied by our own
red toppers, that persistent issue you must attend in order to quell
your curious engorgement while losing sight that within these shores,
as each crumbling estate daisy chain fucks your distraction, the palace of thieves
west of the minster have an unlocked door through which to enter
and strip the fittings bare

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