The mirror carp outlive us all:
The monarchs, heirs and breeding mares.
The moat is thick as Irish blood,
It laps the brutal sandstone walls.
The clues are strewn across the fields,
And scattered out beyond these isles.
The desecrated arts of love
Can claim their ownership of graves.
Each day the gardens yield their fruit:
The murders, pomegranates, limes.
Exotic cultures lust for growth,
And envy is an ancient crop.
He goes where fame and money lead:
To shame and torture, birth and blame.
response to the film The Draughtsman’s Contract