GRANNY M. DECADE DEAD
Ogham no escutcheon Rome ruled the skyline
refracted in a bough of drink cassock under dominion
awaiting knight’s armour'd sac:
a swooning sideline of red faces
untouched heart of moss
lichen starch & mock Tudor coda
very little Celtic blood left over
in this appanage of carraigín
urine inside the Rose,
Planter and the Gael suppose
I am your heart-to-heart pricked on
like a Pinhead in the wasteland
sent pall and spoiling back for a fight
laying in their wool milk for hours
et mon droit cruciform on damp sand
sold outside church gates
commemorative not symbolic
more magnificence brought low,
and that’s why I used Ripolin!
lustre to yr murder before Gods
sectarianism over an open fire
all blood passes under guardianship
langued ramrod to your peace
lined home or rule rubble barricade
worthy of being held in its signal of kindling flame
or shot in the face?
O bending verge God is my right
to stick on Lilly and blow a 10 foot
hole in London Stock Exchange.
Today the British spirit surges 10-points in share prices
w/ painted buckler and plumy chests
porpoise oil the trading floor traffic
& environmental zone bolts
the door inn powerhouse spoils
upper vest raining masonry
and glass on Iveco Ford Cargo
to the table heavy with song
the venerable memorial pale bent shape
of natural need, hunger can be gelignite
or 'in disgust and its opposite
is reflected the whole of history'
a surcoat of white silk mantle lined with red
thats yr appanage handful of little rock
to their coronet of pectins water stock
spite handshakes & cured claps
within a lumen scratched on off
mucosa or vomiting in the Roman Fashion
bursting something like in your chest imagine
resisting an ulcer of scarlet
livery to rend tomorrow breaks
in via the garden fence
