There is precious little forgiveness in life, so we must be both Priest and religion
If we are to understand the crimes sanctioned by the careless works of man’s art.
We must scrutinise as we act, marrying thought to base instinct,
Accepting consequence as an adjunct to the primal reform in all hearts.
We must be both soldier and wound, both nurse and threat to ambition;
We must in one moment relinquish as we in a secondary phase, rise and start.
For we are the wild and the life we live is abandon. Our roots grow as buildings,
Our deserts of faith fringe all parks. We cauterise and construct obeying the rules
Of both blood and water, as we action the son and prime daughters
To seek out the heart and destroy. We use everything and make everyone else
Our protector, before gunning them down without thinking,
Transforming the weapons of war into toys.
We have become cannibal. It would appear we were always.
At every door sits a warning, behind every smile, some strange ploy.
This is the suspicion at least. I reach for a gin, it’s kiss, bitter.
I turn to the girl. The eye rises. And then thinking of myself I grow coy.
illustration Nick Victor