something has taken up permanent residence
in the corridor of permanent pleasantness
that which cannot be captured on camera
flickering in the periphery of your vision
go easier on your only opponent,
he's blinded and bloated with island psychosis
the apotheosis of all that is wholesome
hitching home along the postal road
from the death at the centre of the island of lights you
must trap it forever in the depths of the pre-terite
push ever west to the land of low density
as they fill in the tunnels and reman the battery
flickering footage of history
from all the angles we never normally get to see
solemnly demolish your dynasty
and send yourself a letter of indemnity
the dust at once diminishing and endlessly replenishing.
