Bad trips tattooed on the unconscious
of Old England. Belfast black magic
and the ghosts of Roundhay Park.
An akasic detonation at the home
of Hangman Hawley: the ensuing
conflagration throwing spectres
on the dark. Do what you like, is how
he'd gloss the words above the doorway
for the bits of rough from boys' homes
he'd have piped up to his door.
In a country with amnesia we do duty
as Remembrancers: the things that we
remember teach us why we fight the war.
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