Empire

Bleach floods over British Empire blues Prussian wealth fragmenting into rust Ochre pouring from the distilleries of eyes Hidden downturned under peek-a-boo fringes The lustre of ink wells overflowing where The sun never sets. Lace and horses make A violent mix like sulphuric acid, a maggot Eating at the Boadicea face of pooling silk Like the flag of an Antoinette bourgeoisie A touch above the socket, dark in their discolouration Hearty in their malcontent, those peek-a-boo girls Tying ribbons on sheep transformed into roaring lions A maypole of bondage, the Spitfire flies.