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The Empire of the Primrose

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  The Empire of the Primrose The city fell in a single night Holding it would take longer So the painters were summoned in the gloom And the saints on the stone 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 iron earth must forget It ever belonged to anyone else... I am the vessel, I am the decree The apex of empire, the false purity Holding the pale coronal into the glare Chartered to conquer the silence out there A seed of cold fences, an ark of damp clay Bending the void to the shape of decay The cycle resets in the dusk of the dream Cobblestone alleys and banners unseen Down the discrepant and tapering throat Past broken angels where gargoyles float Into the wood of the rot and the mould Smelling of Devon and iron gone cold One yellow petal, immaculate bloom Crushing the soul with the weight of its doom Touch the cold stem—and the spires bend back Cobbles turn red on the furnace-h...
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Head on

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Head on

Locked into a decollation of vision
Somewhere between dystopia and utopia
Of daunting scale and empowered ownership
For the futures of all inhabitants
Especially for those who are unable to prophetize

Through compassion and in hatred, paths are layed
Through rhetoric and within reality gaps, plans are devised
Crossroads are manufactured to include outputs of macabre scenarios
And these vivid horrors repetitively weave throughout our histories
Nothingness as sacred, nothingness as incidental

Our fabricated artilleries are lavished with discord
Of senseless killing and normalized clarification
These roadkills are cleansed though legitimate action
And our carnage is visualised through predictable datasets

Grieve is pushed aside
Knowing that the odds against are in favour
Contained within the numbers
That is digestible
To those in pain, those who ignore and those who can exploit





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