Luke Bateman
The Felling of Yggdrasil
"Worlds branch off like capillaries
From an oaken aorta"
Uneven Sideburns
"Empty time lent shape by the weekly rites
Of chiselling the stubble away"
Return to Oxford
"A peal of percussive raindrops tumble from towering heavens.
A lonely leaf joins the fray in a willowing, whispering wash."
Eventual Ghosts
As we sailed on enthralled in the pursuit of some ardent glory
Punctuate As The State Sees Fit
Before we were mad
We could dance as we wanted
Oxford By Night
Immortality comes not in cobweb, but in gold tinged stone.