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"Motherland"

The “Removed”,
Charlestons across the keyboard,

fingers have a personality and a mind 
of their own, don’t you agree?

the stalwart mind converses with the frivolous fingers 
its stark increduality, considers All above All

they’re incorrigible, those lithe fingers,
like feathers they flutter in the stark 

glow of an illuminated screen 
in a dark void

those fingers, dance 
cutting black and white freedom 

slicing pieces of life neatly like a cake 
icing and all, of that stolen kalleidoscope dream,

stepping stones, 
skimming wilfully across each key those fingers go,

the mouth performs the mind’s thoughts, 
whispers expletives, under the breath, quite regularly, 

"no never," is unheard by no one,
but heard by the speaker 

"not on my watch, 
not me, no never" says She,

hard shot, chalked and outlined, 
corner pocket, the black ball drops into the net

the white balls drop numerously 
around her, 

still, She conveys with ice cold conviction,
"no never, not on my watch, not me"

no genuflecting here 
will remove the stain of bedlam in Sodom’s smalls 

and their theological Gomorrah’d degrees
priests and their black habits, antithetical

...backtrack, 
correct that, 

like a pale confession
other side of the lattice

antithesis,
blood beads touched, 

oily, like a reptile,
like a lizard,

each one,
 
no f**k it, the thoughts bleed, 
leave those horrendous feral f***k*rs in ...

to drown deep
in their convenient fonts,

those other small crushed fontanelles
they touched with unclean hands unblessed,

spent like pennies, 

golden showered, 
the filth undercovers unfrocked

unholy held with no rite
savoured 

to be absolute,
out in the cold, 

for All
to be seen

nonchalently abandoned
on the road side of it all 

out in the cold;

the poetic dignigity of a kept and hidden dream
kisses the innocent, there is zero integrity

zero. 

observe betrayal of the gullible naive,
there, trust burnt praying before an alter, on its knees

hidden deadly 
the alleged Godly,
 
with its unleavend bread, 
it’s blood wine and priestly collar, stiff, 

buttered up 
all in hand…all in hand

greasy, 

quite regularly
matins are massaged 

out of the silent voices of the undone
tears spill like buckets of burley for sharks

and well-oiled megalthons rise
from the deepest depths of dark 

move upward
and up on;

out in the backyard,

unicorns prance with butterflies
sincere and purely innocent, 

the Unaware
have their shining ivory swords ripped out 

like teeth 
waiting for the Tooth Fairy, knowing all too well

that one 
is not close, not near, 

but in more than 6ft deep;

Motherland 
mind 
body 
and soul

never misses Her beat
watching over the innocent

‘neath black robed
circling crows

sly foxes and their islands
all connected, like a map, streets marked

no sanctuary 
as if in a church lost, 

nowehere to be found; 

She watches on 
She watches ever on 

Not on Her watch, 
believe it, 

Trouble 
with a capital “T”

burnt catechisms
in the Motherland

warnings 
to the younger 

eyes not opened
minds to be opened 

the message 
passed on

Not on Her watch, 
believe it, 

Trouble 
with a capital "T"

immersive:
Death Penalty.


Candide Diderot. ‘24
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