Holly’s Hill

There burns within our heads

An undying fire. We are

Our own God, sprung from holy beds,

It is ourselves we admire.

To fuel it, we send Holly

Deep into the Wood,

Only to find she fell into the flames;

Another addiction we never understood.

She whispered shallow promises, wrapped in famous names,

And sung plastic praises tainted by flash-bulbed rain.

Narcissus was test-shot

And on-screen Judas-kissed,

While Holly drank Marilyn’s champagne

With Machiavelli’s Prince.

Another rose whose smell we missed.

Forever, we’ll be burdened

By the pills on the hill.

Our dance is celluloid

And thirty-five millimetred to kill.