Airbrushed minarets sacred lands
& comment is free at the
White Nationalist Grievance Party
to stick a knife in you
the circumference of me,
or hilt point cursing the Cenotaph
dragged under martenside
in Oakham rain shining purple acetate
for that which blows up your wife & kids
gets buried in flowers Floodgate
marches to be kindred
this islands country of
biscuit tins Cherry-Gardens
enmities against well-placed bombs
evil tears in Angstzonen
Lionhearts & lone halos
parvenus nouveau BlackShirts
to future militias decayed Britannia
ridges near Albion Gates
pickering to see Gadarene
or Pegida drinking tea; God saves
its Overton window poor soldiers
& the anti-Blimps closed ranks
off this mortised rim for you & me,
Royal British Legion Poppy Cross
Wreath Type D & the final fatal tree
Fusilier confits counter nisus
& death passes to inviolate
estuary plant life
yobends buried cubic grey
for the protest movement
to see again dinghies poached
what Yaxley boked under its silhouette
British speck & your Habeas Corpus
staked fireproof letterboxes ‘justice’
warped softly dead
called out sacrifice & care
scrying a buzzword tear
from its arms Identity originated here
a council estate that God saved
Lebensborn e.V. the sun rises straight
to its own breathing payments
Seppuku’d on Armistice Day
& put to music
& the language of groupthink,
culled from the Third Way handbook
are you proud to be not dead?
& here stands the noblest
commando in the airfield
soliloquies red pillar nativists
pull a jingle of spurs
& the crashing of boots at the curb
how much is enough?
how much is nothing scrubbed ?
stiffer than parade-ground disciplines
which gave life, warmth & action
a drooping mob’s rosette
balaclavas florid screed
#WeWillNotBeReplaced
Quisling pigs & horse wig blotched
heroics gerrymandered white ash
& Blood & Honour groupuscules
a banner drop of burning poppies
a swooning pile on my breastbone own's
quite dwelling the world continues
daydreaming over the standing-reserve
& what falls out? w
omen in veils,
gathered near a well in a small village
a thousand children
where whiteness is spectral
& the cadastre sings out
mullah British mullah
& O woe my heated toes,
awhile none else might meet
lowly near merried England
to go & cheer once more at my feet.
