flattened.

a demolition crew has moved in next door using
TNT and toothbrushes I said "hey, what you doing?"
but the foreman ignored me, implored his men to
restore the land to it's former glory.

IAN simpson's monolith
bringing paganism back to the people
handing mysticism to the masses.
some buildings round here will never need planning permission.

the plans from above belie the architects cheap lust for the occult;

broken pentagram avenues,
cement mixed with the sweat and shit
of two maidens from stratford-on-avon.
a loose cannon in planning tried to save em.

and now he's off with the stress.

so him in his name lets raise a glass
to that good old-fashioned dumb bravery.

AND STAND before the three graces in a hi-vis jacket
and choose your own incedental music.
and yawn in the face of the dawning of deficit.

from the mud something will continue to rise
I only exist to tell you which things and why.