Hooray Demons Salute the Forever Lost Parliament of Barry and Jacqueline

Now it is time to put aside and forget
the decadent period of fast red cars &
slothful attitudes towards boldness
and moral mettle except in entering
the National Lottery, the greatest
con yet wrought by the Tory Party—
worse than cheap gin for quelling
here in the Great United Quelldom
where tomorrow never comes fast
enough for win ticket announcement.

I have been admiring the caked
menstruation blood you left
on a pillow before we parted.
It was the most tender
moments of our days.
We laved and laved the blood away
and you helped me with my broken leg.
It’s amazing what we did considering.

Nothing remains now.
World in smithereens.
4:56, sun rising after me,
swoon alone in the garden
at lilac and azalea fumes
thanking heaven inside
the utter madness for
nasturtium you planted
before fleeing from
my darkriver drining.

Rain, alone in the rain,
rain and the train and
the river darkly summong
towards its source my heart.
All the buttercoppes
flush like forests ankle-high.
I am so glad to live at the
northern end of the earth!

The south would suffocated
and humiliate me. Once more
the blossoms and birds. Even
aconite and horehound
bloom and bloom. I&I

myself am in a poisoned
corner, Chatterton-style,
entirely deconstructed.
Toe pressing the made earth.
Stiff bottom lip turned out
against the rules and res
of it, all in despotic shame.

Said: should do, but I won’t.
And she said: that’s the story
of life your life. Almost man.