Sunday 20 November 2016

cocaine in mayfair (VERY ROUGH DRAFT)

if you don’t feel like 

you’ve failed enough already 

opulent trade in CDO

 will spread through 

surviving intervals of memory
under its aspect of a 
continuous connected process


small vagrants
stiffened in blast

crimped in baked convulsive
joke that

heterogeneous ideas are
yoked with violence together 
‘each a crisis’

complete the fiasco 
bibelot frangible bits weakly

in my terrain of reproduction 

at once, 
agencies of fiscal discipline 

sanction trials 
demanding Hercules
dig a straight ditch
of credit products for
liabilities on the balance sheet

austerity counter-attacks

strange fits no yellow pongee silk suit

snuffed out the cocaine in mayfair shingle 
paraded faithful pet gazelle 

infinitesimals of sectarian fun await 
gulf between any synch 
squeeze the piece 

doesn’t produce miracles 

all the base was sunken floribunda 
comical abbreviated conjugations 
on the bonnets of SUV’S ditched in the cylindrical lip
crossing tip to tip 

Saturday 19 November 2016

the personal allowance threshold (DRAFT)

like a cardiac splinter or 
and I’m thinking of a calendar heaven or 
a map or what use is it in thinking
-about prosody? in the head
felled trees
sleep aggressive 
minding assertion 
of hapless halcyon image

slyly wilting neurasthenic honesty 
each new trench
has gossamer of tolerable
arabesque wealth 
dreaming heave
compensates a top plastic surgeon
and many many foreheads 
wiped just want money but
we’re all in it together
in this big champagne flute
about 2 1/2 ft wide and 3 ft deep
around the base
upheaving ceramic, silicon, liquid crystal versions of
wheel barrows, 
shovels and pick ax’s
obviously still composed of flesh
and i thought to myself
alongside municipal zoning 
pursue both ditch digging and symbol management 

There are no tourniquets

In the tradition of a coterie reading
your feet covered in L'OrĂ©al 
and so is your face

I know you’ve circulate them privately
a way to encourage intimacy 

& the days are so short 
by the time you manage

It is in this will

to arrest a moment to

to bury the ammonia-injected meat
in quicklime

because there are no
What is a derivative?

There are no tourniquets

ODE to David

unknown for everyone as difficult 

the word that comes to me: 
a lord, 


 but inhabited

in flat biting 
cingulum tough body

over a beautiful broken face

unknown for everyone 

a wagon for a wagon

always in the fog, 
cottony, all day long
looked like he was sleeping 
considered it all with formidable finds
the child cuspids battered
often prisoned
tough dry-hair
raised out by mother
time immemorial
stories of histories
in the bistro spilling
the preacher preached, 
life on the screen 
on the street
without any distinction 
a lord, 
a violent sir
head shady
but inhabited 

Tuesday 8 November 2016