To Crystal Castles, Tracheal Blank & Burn Them

To Crystal Castles

A faceless memory of the beatbox shimmer
Glanced half-cooked mirrors on a nineties’
System with the cracked-glass he and aired
Wars on assault-course senses leaves blank
Head doing deer antlered stag fight dances.

Crystalline and caramelised-sugary rose the
Processes buzzing endlessly amphetamine-
Bass plugged early eared state, here in 2nd
Eponymy, a soulwash rush of vangelic glint
Linked later to slacked-on hits of happy.

Puts joys in our fast-paced platinum minds
From blended blonde beats arpeggiating a
Pockmarked tone in hip-swinging katharsis;
All is sand on a graintable of time signatured
In chalk on our impressionable holographs.



Tracheal Blank

Reality is the horror of existence.
The void left is the absence of an
Abyss. I don’t even feel welcome
In my own mind. Nor are you; it
Is numbed by years of erosion, to’ve
Become a stem holding a water-
Balloon. You
Won’t lift me out of my hypothermia
For the freeze-frames of dead flowers
Pressed between two sheets of fabric;
The smell and taste you loved of you
I loved.



Burn Them

Do our bones rust in the ground,
Oxide-red in peat and ash,
And carcass-earth? Burn them,
Burn them all.

Do our gypsy eyes betray a
Semblance of egalitarianism
That unites us all? Burn them,
Burn them all.

Our idealism’s biggest threat
Is its dismissal as romanticism,
But should we say what we do
Not mean? - Burn them

Burn them all.