I found this while going through some old files today. Enjoy! It’s horrible!

“Britannia” (Extract from The Exegesis of Black Francis)

Suddenly, I had a vision of Great Britannia;
She was squatting above the City,
Her fingers working furiously,
Moistening herself as she descended.
A low moan from her mighty lungs
As finally she was penetrated:
Thirty, Saint Mary Axe
Inside her Great Axe Wound.

She sank lower with pleasure;
Her eighteen milky bosoms,
Pinched and scored by a
Thousand massive veins,
Blew forth foamy liquid:
Premium lager
For the baying masses below.

The force of her thrust excited the air,
Calling forth a gust from that
Mightiest of love-tunnels,
Causing a whirlwind of litter
And other worthless sheets of paper:
The very stuff of life itself.

Her great, guttural moans
Captured by a million tiny microphones,
Endlessly mixed and remixed
For our aural pleasure,
Are released to the public:
Of purest ecstasy.

That broad face and nose,
Council-estate chins and
Mutton-dressed-as hairdo;
Helicopters buzz like midges,
Cameras clicking like ferocious crickets:
Her streaming tears;
Tomorrow’s front page.

Her mouth opens and we listen;
Her confessions cause us to well up
As we recall the many sins perpetrated
In her and our name. Sins too awful
To contemplate;
Her crimes; our crimes
Instead move us to anger.

Curse upon curse bounces
From her resilient flesh;
It will take more than this shame
To wither Great Britannia.
But what’s this?
We have found her weakness.

We drag her from the City,
Prepare to tie her down:
Duck her in the Fleet
Like the witch we imagine her to be.
Little do we know
It is too late
Now to go back.

Britannia is dead. Long live Britannia.

Alexander Hayden James Smith, 2009


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