PS (CIVIL RECOVERY) draft

 

Paternoster Square

small & weak this dreaming field

background to work 

New Classical macroeconomics 

New Classical tiny glass beads 

new satin finished logscales & 

the multi-levels rendered image 

peerless white limestone of chlorine 

ducts or some flaming urn 

& no drinking water, sabre of light

filigree lightness anodyne 

as low as possible over the tidal Thames

these decoy vents feeding you air, 

off seed cathedrals

& noon-marked monocoque

hollow dusk light 

developments in wreck of our

anti-ferrules scratched inside 

the wet paper brain 

Werkstatt grilles flushed pavement

from the swilling ‘ideas engine’ 

Stanhope PLC a windswept field of glass, 

voluminous,, your mother’s bead expertise,

seeing futuristic housing prototypes

in Milton Keynes

 a Workplace Mediation Specialist 

hangs a heavy chain over my heart  

your team knows why

& takes my eyes out 

unrivaled : at the 

Construction Expo Five angel heads,

masques for the court of King the biosphere 

& how to die in it? sitting on the 

laver of eclipsed aches 

all human malevolence planned

orange light porphyry stone

stand on the backs

it’s meaningless orange light

porphyry stone & loggia composite curls 

out social bowels

for creative workspace typology 

bonded & elevated

I have wished to be 

clutter free interior spaces

I have wished the skin 

the skeleton hanging out 

& all the services are in my veins

who cares I love the centreless centre 

I love the seductive image

of an organic architecture

in a state of pulsating desire

I am sparsely clad

in see-through hieroglyphs

the floors glistened  

wrapped nubilities 

hose-like mechanical 

snaked in, over & around 

austerities in the wren 

thick ripe stream of loaded symbols 

 in the midnight blue tabulation

the taut diminution wedded nodes 

& you eat-nodes in The Giant Needery. 

Floating on currents

that are permanently built

in evacuated golden tongues 

You sit there & need

–orange light porphyry stone

minuscule leverage Immelmann turn 

the trail of its wingtip 

the driver’s body –eulogy uniform.

MD (CIVIL RECOVERY) Draft

 

 

Moorgate rains ethanol fluid

turns the mourning out of earth 

where I wander staked out for 

scatological rites of all nations 

under corporate umbrellas 

staked out for flesh of welded indices 

in multiple deprivations,  

staked out like a charred linnet buff 

burning for burnings sake 

NCP London clay  

bellum mouth runs around 

the deregulated Square Mile 

Roman city boundaries its ‘Corporation’ 

65,000 cubic metres of soil taken 

for more Bronze long-limbed hares 

& CLC veneers 

elected representatives 

its arcane 

Common Councilmen, 

milk-paled Aldermen, 

sallow sheriffs 

& Lords from Medieval guilds

a jasmine flower

stuck behind your ears; 

air-kissing the profoundest carrion

 IF THERE’S A HELL, 

I’VE LIVED TO SEE IT

jack-knifed the bend of a hockey stick

an act of revenge against society

perfumes bloody naked warmth 

into the sand-drag 

that blows Tbilisi rose 

off pleasant ayres. 

The Office Group’s unique ‘club’ environment

 in the evening light  

descends city quarter  

a greater & emptier lease

the regeneration scheme has stolen 

our municipal chairs 

serving as a circuit breaker,

cursing the light 

on rake thin 

low resolution mirrors  

an access threshold 

damp wet-winged brooding  

bin-bags & asked; 

‘why’d you keep here? 

survived to a little force, 

like tar & this is fucked roadmap?

filing starred to desist 

a portcullis to roses curved 

in burning words truest, 

when in warbling unrest 

– especially at night, 

when you can’t see 

hypertrophied apartment blocks 

rolling over occasionally sublime. 

J4F (CIVIL RECOVERY DRAFT)

 

Outside Langham Place 

sans consentement  

in Corsham stone the nuptials of 

god & god the Stone 

beneath volutes 

Justice 4 Fathers Spidermans 

half suspended with a daughter’s guitar

‘In the Name of The Father’ by Bono, 

the Trafalgar Groves, the Victory Footprint

Link sculpture with its panoramic viewfinder

in what kind of country is this, 

class fatalised Bowellism the sick rose 

winedrunk on a broadloom Pushkin floor 

threshed red my words 

held up by a friend 

there are Steinways to follow 

seraphs on Brooke street,

it's the colour 

between thawed gurgles 

that really matters

& London is the centre of wicker fence panels 

its river territory is broken  

the last firebreaks hanging

under Blackfriars Bridge 

to starry rushes chainfated

what deposit slot rolled 

my cobblestones glom faced, 

outside Automatic Hydraulic 

anti-terror bollards  

in the event of a loss of power

non-sector chaperones 

allow the ingress of cool air, 

with warm air 

flowing out through 

two tall vents 

which form wings that mirror each other, 

public & private bokes all set to chrome 

it’s underlight schisms humming 

on Laws balustrade.

Is this? 

Asset Management Limited 

shining sleeves scraped 

from every pore 

& costs nothing

laid upon its roof

burning day into your eyes rising 

the stone of the plaza,

in every living sign

public-space gurus lock the doors 

in Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton rooms screening  

Live Below The Line, 

& what will you do Alfie Deyes 

with the cadres of flashbacks, 

reliving of 

the downside

of nostalgic austerity 

for 20 minutes 

teeth cleaned tassel loafers 

readily circling each crutch

you know you have to die for a rebirth?  

Cauldron burning London's   

collared plinth of Blair's demotic 

French glades,, now this is Bang at Sportcity 

searching Utopia through a pipeline

middle english bullclipped 

I chide Culture & Values Enterprise 

I ate your withered dinner tie

with Amarone & vetched Gillespies  

the Plateau, the Field, the Garden agenda  

filled & felled w/ MSM 

will manage material deprivation 

for the next life,, in a gala of dystopian domes 

Logan's Run & cement blocks empty man-creditors 

of my desire for the wrecking 

in multi-use pause areas

cascading frozen stars! 

canting Angleterre bouillante.