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The Empire of the Primrose

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  Empire of the Primrose poem The city fell in a single night.  Holding it would take longer. So the painters were summoned,  and the saints on the walls were given his family's eyes. A bloodline was found for him,  older than the walls,  older than the kings who raised them. Now even the earth must forget it ever belonged to anyone else. The Empire of the Primrose - Station 1 Do you have recurring dreams? Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett The cycle always resets at dusk, like waking inside the cold architecture of an unyielding, repetitive dream. I walk the wet, cobbled veins of an ancient European city, passing beneath stone arches hung with heavy, lifeless flags, heraldry drained of colour, damp cloth clinging to wooden poles like dead skin. There is no breath of wind, only the low, humming pressure of an era turning in its sleep. I reach into an iron sconce and tear loose a torch of roaring, ragged fire. The flame casts jittering amber shad...
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Flagstaff Gardens Missing Statues

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This is a matter of inference rather than direct seeing
Seven burials took place here
No evidence that the bodies were exhumed
What potential
If we want to understand it’s time to reinvent

We act as forgeries in the style of what we really want
Only to became redundant due to the introduction of a new technology
Then knowing we have been found out
We lack the  knowledge
Like fallen angles that lack life and emotional play

Taking the historicist position by what we forgot about it
Through the development of scientific knowledge
The colony of identity has been re-established
Normalised aura
To form once again - a unique existence in a particular place in time

This magnificent achievement that time has reshaped
To what is now less good, less beautiful, less awe-inspiring, less interesting
Our memories reliant on reward and monetary gain
Walk on by and think less about it
When none of the original statues exist, it nolonger matters.









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