Poetry

Fornication Under Consent of the Queen

Can you insinuate that which is absolute?

Or can you only put fickle words to these happenings,

Letting the symphony batter on with its savoury sweet inaptitude on worldly skills.

Naivety is only the intelligence that others envy [sic];

They are marvellously unremitted symptoms of raw entrapment.

Our kind words have been kept a secret for some time.

Then we fall back into several pits worth of shit and darkness.

And worried only when the fire turns to embers.

And carnivorous only once the meat is cooked.

Only barbarian tendencies happen when society turns on you.

Or hearing the whip snap on your back, as opposed to feeling it.

Some gregarious chant from a long time ago far away has struck and soothes my old soul.