Zurich PLC (draft/unfinished)

 

A most insatiable covetousness, divided that among themselves with which all the rest might have been well supplied, are far from that happiness that is enjoyed among the Utopians; for the use as well as the desire of money being extinguished. 

Thomas More 

Zurich PLC behind rust packet 

a cacodylic eye spent to tectonics, 

bumps, kidney shaped abscesses 

curled black lids fading shells 

little insects all screws bolts 

& dead 227 figures meant for Linz 

Tyrol locks Germania 

in a thousand springs on Bahnhofstrasse  

an unconditional Basic Income 

gets scolded in Schlaraffenland 

Bundesblatt 77% underneath light

filched rent cleared to pale 

dapple-greys all but rain

between buildings

settling this silent aperture 

on tumuli Blancpain 

ditch of frogs  

for the waking harborage 

masseuse chairs in Hauptbahnhof 

are actual police hidden between 

them proxy codes wire to wire 

noises pissed out communiques 

the guardian angel

climbing out the 7th circle

of hell on quicksilver, 

filigrees the finest truffles 

from Kernzone to be buried

in Heimplatz leased secrets

in amice song cultus medicine paste  

trespassing in reuptakes 

& go again into this suffering city

hotep strung sleep cordons 

the blood of mice, 

domestos lane I find cowered 

across muted half-sounds

red eyed filament of peace,

under the night bridge 

when it’s as quiet as this is 

in public toilets trousers down

the Suisse franc population 

of dead surrendering 

things of youth incogs bring 

some things as free

through this alkaline garden.  

‘I just want my property back’ (DRAFT/UNFINISHED 2)

 

Painted pink from pole to pole 

the oubliette Drop City 

boardroom stilts accidental vistas, 

shuttering on The Boom’s Last Word

ideas for a footbridge abiding 

Glencores greenwashing 

& the final Fatal Tree

made from copper-nickel alloy

bling encased sheer profligacy 

County Hall scoured into Shrekworld

countermanding last minute memos 

the viewing corridors

risoed over capital 

a termination of hope 

Long yen gelded estuary 

unfencibles for king’s head 

to keep land inviolate yob-end

plant life cubic grey urban

beautifies out all the quiet zones 

you bend to gapping stars 

rime goes opaque 

in air of ruckling counterpanes 

rented-off this mortised rim 

under Leadenhall think-tanks 

lower a Union Jack on piled biscuit tins 

from the Cherry-Garden my last sigh, 

nothing much left now 

but a saturnalia bough 

high as uninhabitable 

opportunity area digs 

itself rond-points; overwork death

in Royal Parks surviving 

a tortured lie link by link 

star draught stimulus lament 

forlorn’d white ash this husk perimeter 

mystagogy of WeWork 

Aviation House kicks me down

office blood horizon keystep 

sung from beds,, pennant made concrete

a diagram of our life murdered on 

bramble heads gripping the lamina 

what little legal entitlement 

we have of this unleavened cake? 

a place you cannot be seen, 

a panacea soliloquy

squeezed to the plughole 

you have been forgotten 

In a One Nation Britain 

washed hallow-gob rentiers breathe 

a culture of dependency

hanging off Argyle socks & shitflickers, 

bead-eyed hurdlestake of middleman faction 

a dismal sheen cast the little cauldron,

together commemorate bled pegs 

the phenomenon of humanisation-

trussed up rigid against 

your skin to see through bits of you 

tangled in rigging

of its widely flown ownership,

a stand-alone flag 

from their leafy vantage-tops 

my heart carries on

undoing nap-pods 

in dark vertical gardens. 

‘I just want my property back’ (DRFT/UNFINISHED)

Painted pink from pole to pole 

the oubliette Drop City 

boardroom stilts accidental vistas, 

shuttering on The Boom’s Last Word

ideas for a footbridge abiding 

Glencores greenwashed 

& the final Fatal Tree

made from copper-nickel alloy

bling encased sheer profligacy 

Long yen gelded estuary nattering 

unfencibles for king’s head 

to keep land inviolate yob-ended 

plant life cubic grey urban

open lapwing wet asphalt 

beautifies out all the quiet zones 

faces on the job search 

for a hope bigger than 

a boxed in visage

you bend to gapping stars 

rime goes opaque in

air of ruckling counterpanes 

rent-off this mortised rim city allies

peel under Leadenhall antiquated 

think-tanks welch a Union Jack 

on piled biscuit tins from Cherry-Garden 

a last sigh of mobbed lettings 

nothing much left now 

but a saturnalia bough 

as high as uninhabitable 

an opportunity area digs 

itself rond-points; overwork death

in the royal parks surviving 

a tortured lie link by link 

jerked star-draught  bewitching the 

stimulus lament, forlorn pale white ash 

the husked perimeter mystagogy

of we work Aviation house 

kicks me down Kingsway  

the feeling effects of downdraught 

sprawled office blood its horizon 

keysteps sung from this bed of 

knocks,,  a diagram of our life  

murdered on with cotched 

bramble beds head gripped the lamina 

outside my sublet sinecures 

& read what little legal entitlement 

we have this unleavened cake

a place you cannot be seen? 

in the universal system

of pauperism take panacea soliloquy, 

squeeze the plughole 

look you have been forgotten 

In One Nation Britain

washed hollow-lob 

rentiers breathe culture of dependency 

bent to prime shrill

egad Argyle socks & shitflickers 

the phenomenon of humanisation –  

thrust up rigid light against your skin  

to see through bits of you 

on night’s fall for ambuscade 

tangled in the rigging 

of it is widely flown ownership 

a stand-alone flag 

within the territory 

on one knee & now on the other,

from their leafy vantage-tops 

observing my heart undoing nap-pods 

the dark vertical gardens 

of County Hall scoured 

into Shrekworld countermanding 

last minute memo the viewing corridors 

over capital panorama risoed 

the termination of hope 

on hybrid glass hill-edged,

jack-spiked in brownfields.  

City id buried strata of contamination 

another kind of heat a zone within a zone; 

a cylinder of How Shall I live?, 

are shadows for sale again, 

The London Plan where 

the secret parts of us 

between the uprights camouflage-net

turned intolerable 

gone to pieces and not pulling

gilly-flowers the world falls apart

grey wealed earth not faulted evictions 

 ‘I just want my property back’

in a toxic pyramid with arsenic & mercury.

England, England (draft/unfinished)

 

Class distinctions in England have always been a matter of higher feeling than national honour, the matter of a feverish but very private debate. 

Evelyn Waugh

Painted pink from pole to pole 

the oubliette Drop City 

boardroom stilts accidental vistas 

shuttering on The Boom’s last word

ideas for a footbridge abiding Glencores

greenwashing & the final Fatal Tree

is made from copper-nickel alloy

bling encased for sheer profligacy, 

enclaves glottalling Long gelded

estuary unfencibles

for king’s head 

to keep the land inviolate

the yob-ends natter

plant life cubic grey

& over-reach of imperium

in open lapwing 

wet asphalt as it beautifies out 

all the quiet zones 

from faces on the job search 

for a hope bigger than a boxed in visage

you bend to gapping stars 

that rime goes opaque in

air of ruckling counterpanes 

to rent-off this mortised rim 

the city allies

peels away under Leadenhall

antiquated think-tanks welch

a Union Jack on piled biscuit tins,  

from Cherry-Garden a last sigh of

mobbed lettings nothing much 

left now but a saturnalia bough 

as high as uninhabitable 

zoned backward 

& The London Plan 

where are my eyes  

bending the secret parts of us

faces turned grey ‘no-fault’ evictions 

under section 21  

‘I just want my property back’, 

on this laissez-faire 

bonfire night opportunity area digs 

itself rond-points; overwork death

in royal parks surviving 

a tortured lie link by link 

jerked star-draught bewitching 

the stimulus lament, 

pale white ash 

around this husked 

perimeter of wework 

mystagogy Aviation house 

the of downdraught 

a horizon keysteps from

cotched bramble heads

still gripping the lamina 

of sinecures 

reading what little legal entitlement 

of this unleavened cake we have,

squeezing the plughole  

pauperism soliloquy 

you have been forgotten 

In a One Nation Britain

washed hollow lob

rentiers breathe shrill

over a culture of dependency 

shitflickers & the phenomenon of humanisation –  

nightfall ambuscade

tangled in the rigging 

of it is widely flown ownership 

a stand-alone flag 

shielding acrid vexillum 

morphology made concrete

they stand forming now 

all the while my heart undoes

nap-pods in the dark vertical gardens 

remember County Hall scoured to Shrekworld 

remember countermanding last minute 

memos remember the viewing corridors 

& its rare indivisible Lightshard

bilging over capital

panorama risoed until a dim flicker

 a termination of hope 

hybrid glass hill-edged,

jack-spiked brownfields again.