[I do hope this will not turn out to be prophetic 🙂 – b_p]

[update: sadly, it did; still, two more to go]

[update #2: yay! it’s not over yet though]

[update #3: Wembley awaits]

To perception, it is no more than a winged knife

Lost among frivolous figurines, shapes

A semblance of divine order from one square to the next

Thought manifest in muscles, coordinate movement

Materializes in physicality of forcefields

 .

Unique in its repeatability, murmur which to the ardent ear is concealed

Scream of rapturous vengeance descending

In a parabola to unsuspecting greenness

To synaesthetic climax;

 .

Uprooted from its pristine beginnings

Virginal simplicity craved by the inexperienced

Taken beyond a mere category of contest

Rhythm so pronounced it disfigures melodic

Thumping of your feet

 .

Yet the spectacle ordinarily fails

Inflated to the dimensions of tragedy, unhinged

From its unpretentious context

To stupor of mes que un club.

That really is not mes que un slogan.