Code Judiciaire & God on a Donkey (draft)

 Code Judiciaire

Monarchical law needs arrow slit

the Crusades in bare stone caves 

crenellated white  

narrow cast-iron galleries 

rising in tiers troglodytes 

vaulted tunnels the freedom panorama

one of God's creatures

ragged over stone instead of brick 

star shaped King Pest cross-plained

in the forest of plastic receipts 

while cabbage civilisation exists 

under Atomium vast marshes of dog shit? 

at night under numbstands 

a cestus of starres from Inspector's Lodge

beautiful as a safe by means of pipes 

the Quartermaster Carceral city, 

small theatres of tortures dotted with wheels, 

gibbets, gallows & pillories;

The European Councils 

soulless eurocrates seek to introduce 

a standard European bottle 

holding a miserable 70 centiliters, 

robbing life of charm 

& subjecting it to the economic man

gone French in BeerWorld, 

curry leicht scharf paired 

to Ultra-Luxe more six grain Flemings

& I’ll live forever

off the eldest child, Leopold 

Heer copse to sunn blonde 

this rich Alpha Global City 

frenulum pressed to lintel 

LA PRISON=SUCE MA TEUB

God on a Donkey 

Filet d’Anvers in brown paper bag

the Carrefour cost petrifies the hand

nevermind show me Manneken Pis 

beheaded in the garden pond 

blanket weeds dissolve 

to lake green ketje chains 

in the heart Passementerie buttons, 

blue silk lampas, embellished in silver 

& golden thread 

the white gloves pressed strange 

hybrid shrine 

where cultural memory is housed

flowers in a jug on a city street

unstolen the pillar unbitten Avenue Louise,

the trouble with the underclass is 

to kiss the ring of the door 

remembering plebiscites 

from castrum to didaem Châteaus 

hanging you out a window, 

like a privy over a ditch 

remembering The European Federation 

the Bomzhes to the Polyarchies 

remembering wool meadows Endland after

EU umbrellas staked in façades 

like bitter tithes Tourist traps 

this rapid transport system 

is plastic fresh its wrapper hidden 

in the columns the Hill of Tears, 

running down inside corner pavilions, 

down inside Louis XV-style 

bluestone doorways money into water

all the while dendrochronological big ladle 

takes the Stoofvlees to my mouth

adopting Batavian ears, 

for no one keeps old customs 

like a peasant.