To the Master Hieronymus

by Aidan Andrew Dun


whip-lashed slaves
military gorillas
in uniform,
eyes peeping out
with jubilant madness
from under vast
fur helmets.

Strange trophies
hanging from
seasick masts
symbolic baubles
flags of ignorance:
burdens carried
with desperate pride.

These are the pre-dead,
a lurching parade of idiots
wounded by self-esteem
greedy eyes
on the road ahead
never seeing
the red rose underfoot
the Calvary Hill shining.

All cities moulder
tumescent, money-swollen.
Rained and blurred
the great domes slide
foundations undermined
by principles of uncertainty
running together, slipping
from the edge of the world.