MANIFESTO

This is our battle plan, 

our moral blueprint, 

our manifesto. 

We’ve checked out 

of your material world 

and we're ready to start 

forging your coffin nails. 

We sharpen our lances 

on your myth of celebrity, 

grow toxic cultures 

on your backhanders, 

decapitate your bankers 

and gnaw the flesh 

from their pudgy wee fingers. 

Health and safety inspectors 

hang like game from our rafters; 

influencers are promptly pulverised 

and used to fertilise our Triffids. 

Salesmen pound their fists 

against our cellar hatch: 

we feed them honey-glazed dog turds 

and thrash their genitals 

with rusty pawnshop golf clubs. 

Our gables are festooned 

with the entrails of lifestyle coaches. 

We’ve built a picket fence 

with the femurs of your executives 

and made ice picks of your Jimmy Choos. 

We work day and night, 

our disbelief no longer suspended 

but shattered on the ground. 

Our eyes are fire pits, 

our mouths rifle barrels, 

our hearts supernovas. 

And we’ll turn you inside out: 

darken our doorway at your peril.