the parade of orange acolytes
with alabaster dreams
marches to the beat
of rotors hovering above
black balaclava’d men with
zip tie fetishes
humming to the tune of
wailing mothers
wrenched from cars
in school pick-up queues,
flapping arms and grooving hips
like a pepper sprayed priest
(it’s all the rage)
this motley mess
will parade long after
the grand marshal
fumbles his baton,
will sing and dance
as long as souls
never acquainted with affinity
are roused by the rhythm
of the spectacle
cruel for its own sake
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 7:02 PM UTC
the parade of orange acolytes
with alabaster dreams
marches to the beat
of rotors hovering above
black balaclava’d men with
zip tie fetishes
humming to the tune of
wailing mothers
wrenched from cars
in school pick-up queues,
flapping arms and grooving hips
like a pepper sprayed priest
(it’s all the rage)
this motley mess
will parade long after
the grand marshal
fumbles his baton,
will sing and dance
as long as souls
never acquainted with affinity
are roused by the rhythm
of the spectacle
cruel for its own sake