Daydreams spilt like wine roses
pelting the dawn with seaspray toasting
the nights requiem into submissive slumber
I breach you with a clever kiss of wit
and your egg hatches with a
blinding twist of light;
discordant and rude
the green and the hungry explete
with powermouths of blood and decay.
This is your country, men of honour.
Built into the fabric, not sewn
a wretched streak
a gash of weeping
with the familiar language of crying babes
one by one
we all fall, and drown.
We must dig teeth back into the wound
before the filth begins to set;
so hard to swim with bound limbs.
Sharpen not your tongue at me
I said, choosing
to sit on the sideline and observe from a cloud
whilst you decide
the lesser of two evils.
To give praise with a raised hand
disguised as your sentiment
your ragged glory;
this leaves me no encouragement
cept to recede with the
gluttonous waters in their shame.
Forgot your own
hollow support from
cheap plastic shrines
and then you tear