Thursday 30 April 2020

Destruction of country houses in 20th-century Britain (draft)

From memory the modern physiognomy of 
the best picnic is on Agars Plough,
how can you forget massive gazebos 
overflowing with fresh salmon
and Moet out the proverbial bucket!
O' dancing in the moonlight
we're dancing in the moonlight 
when that moon is big and bright 
it's a supernatural delight, 
when everybody is dancing in the moonlight!
o' we're dancing in the moonlight 
pin locked and the clashing oars are
needle grown out of HM Government
children are the bilge for best water
just like rabid class equipment 
declines in 'returns' of each cohort reneged 
sorry is the hardest word but you learn 
from your mistakes remember 
you just like walking around its intrepid fantasy 
with elbows in the topiary garden dancing to
the architecture of moonlit colonnades, 
the custodial moonlit amphiteatres, the moonlit
night-club interiors as designed by Edwin Lutyens 
on old drugs and re-thought as a underground bungalow 
and exit into anti-ligature moonlit prisons 
with calico print on the walls that keep you
in a second nature bind
like the new poor law. 

By day devoted exclusively to treadmill prayer,
and by night the very cradle of blessed liberty!
a palliative of others in the good collective bed
endogenous to mobility regime
upping flowers in a new
version of dirt if they do not exist 
from their own subsistence then 
remember biting the monarch bestowing
largess horsepower is reinventing the 
wheel to 70 poor boys of custos closed
by the brocas as informal water 
pageant splitting custom made faux-stone toys 
blocking up amenities all the way down 
Dorney lake like shit doesn't sink!
well I'll let you know to each his own
keep on a pierced throne for 
imperial measure to watch
the poor niche alcoves

Sunday 26 April 2020


Play of burnt tobacco shit 
a spine record of the north circular 
swilling troupe of postured urban death
everted ganglia in  
a poor mans wing, 
strange organs and sprandles 
with bulbs sporting unknown usages 
intro-bolted vertebrae  
on a epoch fucking machine,
look into the arche-furnace arriving 
so early the anonymity will recover 
in your children's children's birthmarks 
like Lilly fanged treason whose perpetuity 
a new ear fed from tools, muscles,
memory expiring along with it,
dream fallen on royal mandible keeps
growing lasting for ages to come
a home worthy of Name
and Name alone sinks.

Friday 10 April 2020

In bunches they die, In cleaving they die (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Opulent snakes and ladders
on which bullion with ice 
pillow gets kippered
on merit gutless peeling in virtue,
a bouquet of life the lawn 
decibel noise reduction panels &
the doors are closed,
squinting gables through premium 
petrol curls up a secluded Ponte Giardino
and down with our enemies rest on 
cash in chub stained dawn ruses 
you can't chasten a flower-filled consort 
of fair ideals the subordinates keep
keening on some cordoned fence 
crusted in doubloons and trackie bums 
poor bleeders piss off and die
like a rat in the rubbish, 
gilts fl├ęches in Teutoburg Forest
as Autumn of Euro-Ketchup 
nothingness & never today 

Why the United Kingdom does not have a cadastre – and does it matter? (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Nerve presets next to my 
accomplished alarm locking 
day and night out now livid 
in cellulose its orbital home 
moving stupid liquid forever
in the curing of sleep, 
you cannot decline that 
fillings excite big zeros 
as crown pain camps in
a baked sky diagnoses the fracas 
as illustrated trauma made the bloodline 
moot the vein in circulation as our 
ears are now in excellent condition 
as the sound is almost always awful 
clocking the hum scathes about the 
streets with the throat struck in blood 
burst padlocks, that is proof enough it 
never counts feral under the baton rounded 
to cost pride into a large bolus its texture 
marbled the larynx taking the charge of 
lifetime disposals what is won chokes 
the sky and crosses it through we have the 
cadaster now singing out clear the keys 
uptake the floating scale matured chime 
kick the lock free the voice sealed 
in the ring outcry no one wants to see
the ballistic gelatine record since it 
has decreed the air already, 
mixed with bone dominium  
where no job marches run amok
over the proud varicose fat on 
sun-loungers, watch the juvenile 
lash out now watch the choppy sink 
in badlands the saturnalia,
so eat the chicken wings 
gilded in a better hour

Wednesday 8 April 2020

Our illnesses are mostly political illnesses (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

O' crown in the belly
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
O' crown in the belly
means you never miss a meal.

O' crown in the belly
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 whatever comes out 
the mixing bowl oddly cropped 
is scarcity put through the mill
O' crown in the belly
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 screams in riots!

Saturday 4 April 2020


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 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