Threnody.

Inner son glimpsed as a dapple
Métier me
Washed in mist
I have seen the red square end
In a hand made circle
I have been in at the death
Of the good queen empress
Like the Tristram Shandy of her blithering mirth

Tempests form in the veil of a black eye
The god has called me to inform thee perforce
24 times in the prick of a second
Bullet blink bubble torn
There is no word of a lie
Between the iris and the cleaver
Or the rocket in the sky.

Vicarious, hilarious
Oftentimes nefarious
You don’t want to terrify the troglodytes
With a leaping tongue and sheets of lightning
Sithee hast seen the lark ascending
You have wrought the now full-thrush
Never ending like Phil Collins
(May there be a threnody to his victims)
With a song of loss and love.

Something about a blackling bird son

Fledged from a blade of winter hay
Something about your diligent vision
Made me want to try to say with words
That which I have not got words to say:
Traktor; dilapidation: instigrificance;
Pencil-case
Benediction

But the Villa are playing away.

They're playing away

Away.