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Wednesday, 8 April 2020

Mum Says (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)


O' crown in the belly
from morning till four 
in the afternoon travel 
starred in axe out the 
royal line coin the bottleneck
stolen a load of Imodium 
believed in sportswear because
they can’t afford it but will 
survive the idea of cuts supposedly
around professional news footage 
with the closing of nobody will ever
hurt let alone from real life, 
because embittered rosette 
does not go back to blood
count over the hydroponic mud
for maudlin the unknown
where mosquito disperses your 
heart rhymes O' crown in the belly
means you never miss a meal.

O' crown in the belly
means you never miss a meal
in the household panic exists 
like a weather resistant text-to-speech
receipt written once runs everywhere,
our nature as doublet 
by number to comfort in milk thistle 
payless rule burns with autolysis, 
and varnishes what comes out 
the mixing bowl oddly cropped 
is scarcity put through the mill
O' crown in the belly
means you never miss a meal
to the great night when their 
beautiful phrases will be drowned 
out by death scream in riots!













Saturday, 4 April 2020

In Surrey (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)




O’croak but today they are
no longer interchangeable 
your family's average life expectancy, 
most common occupation
denigrates in your hands you look out
a window somewhere passable 
the kiss on the adjacent cheek 
is now inadmissible but today 
they are no longer and a window 
is passable as the cheapest option
and you walk out of your premises 
up to the local ghostly vandalism you 
cease to address this situation 
you have been doing the destitute 
work unpaid enter the premises 
you’re shoes are vertigos unlooping 
you magnify under starlings 
count the lower ground floor 
as destitute the sun doesn’t 
and the remaining real estate 
want to be law enforcement 

Wednesday, 1 April 2020

Mr.Catchpole Very Angry this Monday (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)




All together joined into one 
mattress will monitor
your nightmares your fridge 
will beep for more cheese 
of the Mount Everest kind
made of reindeer milk 
and then stored for years 
under the beds of Norwegian
farm folk communing for the 
cheapest electricity or
gushers of cash get to see 
the extenuating circumstances
at minimal cost tiny pink eyed
your fridge remember
will beep for more cheese
and your electric car will take orders
unbeknownst to you click by click, 
saving on the doorstep 
decayed in the back of
your mouth leaf by leaf 
two hands protect glowing 
white stainless hunting equipage 
your balance remember the lower branded  
Colonel Boyd Genghis John Master Comrade
the ghettoised object overwhelmed 
one more face in THAT crowd 
all joined together 
in the ether filtrate the precise 
genetic makeup in an environment 
where the rights or title
are just error-correct missives 
but management are in
a combat theater platform 
and what you see is the work that 
will be available after
such as counting cars, individuals 
or thinned air shaped in the highest 
priority or the lowest conscience beset 
every prescient mildew on praxis, 
you pay me remember I lose 
much more frequently on the 
other hand the floor ceremony how 
to make a living cuttle or cease






Dear, Dearest (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)


Thursday, 19 March 2020

Nobody believed it, and the dancing resumed (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)


This holiday of universal equality 
clattered like a coin and rolled 
through the crowd and nobody 
believed it-dancing resumed
like a hoarse siren bearing
the pure and impure division where 
walls are prisons to company carrying death 
put the interest of the nation first get
to courting it doesn’t matter no body lives 
in Hampstead anyway, the local hospital
prefecture appeared calmly tranquil 
in barricade tape you now feel the 
strategy verbatim is a kiss that would
carry death over the abandoned streets and
further like a wide mandatory forecast angel
the general absence of envy of the present 
in relation to the future we trouble ourselves with.

Your hamstrings shrink, your hands cringe
over crock you fall apart repeatedly-
at least you're armed
with two knuckle dusters, 
a cricket bat and spam before warm days
any SHTF situation explodes onto the streets
this is known and contamination 
is the darkest rhombus under this
floral boarder of the garden
the army built a large mud oven 
to cook the biggest Lord Woolton pie 
ever which will be evenly distributed 
throughout the respective messes and 
eaten before the Ark, all new members 
will have to give up their birthright 
by removing the welcome mat
for the foreseeable 
future bodies end the story now
is in need to shoot the birds 
out of the sky as contactless effete 
remits to downed rhythm thank air
again in some sheltered silent fluid they
hope all will return in breathless 
wait its precious but tasteless seed
we will eat again this great package  




Wednesday, 11 March 2020

By God's precious soul, I mean no evil, and I will not leave it! (DRAFT)




The police commissioner of each quarter
has been delegated the bearer of their 
respective community refuse bin 
packed with food and set on fire,
'i am going to be scientific'
on the balcony but first a sharp 
breath that leads to the cuffs
stay there and they will eventually 
suppurate and master the passiveness
and paralysis it entails as all can eat
in the days to come
sick in the box warren of hecatombs,
of UK tissue industry for my country
I lay to be carted off to 
the potters field for decayed old buildings 
to be met in front of my according brazier 
here to anticipate the police
testing the edge of the estuary- 
trap bath split the lodge in mind
with a fellow voyager in kind



Tuesday, 10 March 2020

Appointments had been Tainted (DRAFT LETTER)



Dearest Joanna, 

Your warmest wishes are greatly appreciated and valued, all coming from a national treasure; a consort of fair ideals and beauty. Grown local! Naysayers will be pooh-poohed. I have pictures already of building a flower-filled crossing from London’s South Bank to the Temple.

And it would be built quickly, so as not to get in the way of the Thames Tideway tunnel, the giant sewer being constructed in the river. A gift to the people of London filled with trees as well as shrubs and wildflowers. Winding paths will snake around woodland copses and glades. It would be a floating paradise, the tiara on the head of our fabulous city. A wonderful environment for a crafty cigarette or a romantic assignation, I must say. 

I love Thomas and what’s he’s doing with London currently, something truly ingenious. We must stand strong on our principles, I can almost smell the garden bridge ringed with demented enemies who do not want to see something beautiful established in the heart of London. Up with the Ponte Giardino and down with our enemies! Beauty and practicality in equal measure! And we will become champions of the concept and once implemented, it will last long into the future. I am sure the GLA and TFL will back the project, this is MOST certain!!! A great city must not rest on its laurels!

Now with the Olympics behind us, we have real vigour to carry on in the same fashion. There is a real obvious a transport NEED with commuters filing like the hoards over Waterloo like TS Eliot. London demands this beatific resolution, to rival the high-line of NYC and elsewhere!

I say YES and I look forward to this great project taking flight!

Ever Yours, Boris

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