This body politic is infected
broken down by a pathogen that’s half self aware
half selfish
insidious in nature
consuming in scope
and proud to say it’ll get us
before any other disease will
a form of connection
I suppose
This country’s economic ghetto
is under the thumb
held in stasis by a financial Cosa Nostra
maintaining order through exploitation
and tradition through corruption
with ageing Dons counting cash
assuring the hungry that it only gets worse
when new gangs arrive
holding us safe from invasion,
only to kill us themselves
a form of connection
I suppose
This home and castle
has a Lord
claiming Prima Nocta
to fuck us
and calling it Right
because who put up the walls that keep the enemy out?
Who swings the sword against the outsider
even before we’ve heard their name
or had a chance to know why they came
attention drawn away
by cap doffing obedience
to Regal right
a form of connection
I suppose
This story has no ending
not the way it’s told
the dulcit tones just carry on
until the body’s cold
always reassuring
that the teller’s got it right
always disavowing
any poor, unknown insight
It’s words are getting louder
it’s silences obscure
and the chance of thinking round it
ain’t quite there any more
a form of connection
I suppose
But we still have one reminder
of what we were and are
beneath all of the diseases
and Mafiosi power
we’re the one’s who live life
not the ones who say it loud,
not the ones who run it
or build walls
and steal crowns
and sooner rather than later
the body will react
locals will stop paying dues
all that bowing we’ll retract
we’ll find the final fullstop
start on another page
and all of those connections
will be from a dying age