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.
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