The mirthful coos but the impatient, hungry cries of our children teach us (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Plain clothed Technocrats hang on a tight 

budget bootstrapped the average cost of a funeral 

in the UK now stands as potentially redundant, totally 

as in compulsory that some other person remarked 

the axiom physics no two bodies can occupy 

at one and the same place, be rude 

floccinaucinihilipilification turn aside the poor

double iniquitous a casting breach of solvent 

pyre, castigate a long table turned I'm Ronnie 

Fucking Pickering Ronnie Fucking Pickering 

Ronnie Fucking Pickering the horses are 

apoplectic overcharged by the multitude 

capsized homeland a pure shambles 

seeing Vienna goodnight blossom 

its me Ronnie Fucking Pickering

again locked in this comfy shed tinkering 

set to grow out the masses on a barren 

comedy hillside turn on the terrified 

run, its the only way out gobshite 

geriatric paradise dozing cluster 

of pets atop slender poles 

jizz of guillemots a modest 

memorial of your lives 

death breach of post-humous 

repayment structures implemented this

in the veil the ambulance light

a pretreatment kindred 

clay pipe and acknowledged corner 

snug in cotton fuddle the million 

petalled flower I stare at night and day

night and day and call out to the sun

you don't see a chariot carrying 

your granny away you haven't lived

my standing chill branded in the beautiful 

rays bleeding out day and night day and night 

house to house less deceived 

on that bed the actual habit of estimating 

is worthless pure classism better times 

when the flames spread radially 

around the petals, and all were alight, 

alas stems rose slowly from the gaping 

floorboards pealing upright with a single

massive flame a sacred gasp clap. went 

around the house as it lifted 

o spare me spare me I will work 

work so hard for you under the yonder 

tree, work so hard cast in gold between 

the anvils of the star. Clare Balding 

and Supreme Court watching adrift or ashore 

without others, rich dad poor dad

rich dad poor dad parabolic trajectory 
is a great unseen here alone one voice 

on this patch a motionless foliage 

all I could hear was the wind, 

and everywhere birdsong 

and morning doves 
the dirt beneath your feet

The meaning of royalty it too can be killed, 2019 foam board (PVC) 89cm x 212cm

Pigs can't look at the Sun, plaster, epoxy, coloured wax

Workers Coming out of Reubens Retreat, 2019 dimensions variable

Power to the Peaceful, foam board (PVC) 89cm by 200cm

The Knife Angel, 2019 134cm x 210cm

Dearest Boris (Diptych), 2019 160cm x 240 cm x2

National Lottery, Penny (British decimal coin), decommissioned National Lottery (Lotto) balls, cement mixer

Flower Thrower, 2019 Plaster, scaffold pole, MET riot helmet, flowers

Sixtus Dominic Boniface holding coconut (Small Plug) Carrie as Sexy Hot NHS Nurse (Medium plug) English Landscape PR (Large plug)

SERE, 2020

Oil on canvas, 45x45cm  Painted on my behalf in Dafen, Shenzhen. Based on Christopher Hitchens own ‘Lashed to the Mast’ experience for Vanity Fair 2008.

I cannot smile at the men (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Cardice kiste behest

coxswain hordes bearing

golden lace in bulk 

the white bonnets with 

hemophilia lazy chevron  
long train dresses 

papers piled a life shorn 

of difficult things 

reliant on that external vantage 

for orientation cross the line

of something small,

ice cream in the vine

tax forget I'm a good person 

I've written thousands of slips 

of paper negate here each 

in a sealed environment 

a metal loudhailer resides,

forget its yours a world 

marooned chicanes 

its yours

How British schooling (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Writ across my face

in silo the compound

arch is made 

out of bitter missives 

off idylls bleached into 

gantry singing 

tied up in sad yap 

and revisited as guest 

having no charm of quark,

are the burrows of your

comradeship lapel

unworn for the 

cipher school turned to 

papal kisses one by 

one to build the lagoon 

whilst white bonnet 

renders sympathy out 

the jurors 

MORELONDON (DRAFT)

A mantle of suet, 

to wear charm school

on threadbare 

mask to gull have the 

face in laissez-faire

patsy, a soft touch 

as the garden of old school

is biddable remember 

in sotto voce easily 

in your upstairs crony room

the public-space gurus

are on new artificial hillocks 

pilloried to roam freer 

down under turning 

to skill predation  

the admin cortex
brittle alert break 

given as bellwether smite 

the Downs or to Beachy Head

The popular glories of the palaestra

for a ribboned coat remember 

beating frogs to death in the 

midsummer evenings remember

the river and the games field

the view was undying;

hexameters and open innings 

the herd to my side shrood 

the thronging hearties 

dullard come and see the sights 

and shut De Oratore! 

to think of what it feels like

to have yr head kicked in! 

face down in mud 

and what did it feel like,  

O’ friends it felt marvellous TOP-HOLE

it made me what I am today 

a first-rate preparation for life

ahead ruled with an imperial sway

my house in flood light all seeing 

all knowing all caring and all loving 

bolt eye in the sky to the common green, 

teeming my palsied heart too dull to sympathise

with tar-ruined lavender gloves, 

I stand in a pre-mount position

as per thoroughbred breeding

the science of predation! 

what a thing a man might be!

tailored directly inside the CAD

part by part in real-time 

a model-driven enhancement of the cerebral cortex,  

whilst they have THEIR things such as,

LOOK a panoramic photo of the unified 

control center for the Large Hadron Collider!

LOOK the weather system!

LOOK poor polar bears in a hot flush! 

LOOK trust me I am a scientist!

anointed under the elder tree

of the smarting boys,  

knocking off tilt berets 

clean O'swish in my 

hand is two upon the breech,

redoubtable wielding roflcopter

of justice blots yr foxed face;

buckle behind old sort

all the dons drawn pale! 

but the aspidistras are hard to kill

that is known in earth mud alone

the salt won’t do 

lord shivered to atoms in the courtyard

its summit surround by a cream moat, 

look at resilience its purple fluid 

its kindred shapes a child’s kaleidoscope

scratching the prim rectangular beds 

a cruel vector of birchen pens

sharp and colourful 

the umpire comes out says PLAY 

UK PONCHO EMERGENCY (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

(1/3)

Of a smart new tent

or in a state of localised impunity

push on the fence line 

watching you birdie like wild

grow the balcony where we start

to count three, two, one

sniffing courses of festive line

looking for the close-ups,

want to watch them eat a testicle

we are told smells of sausage

returning to watch them

on the fences you pot that mad
dead adult near perfect child

impress the bunker

makes you feel that bypass

over cleared checkpoints

door re-opens says
now that was a tracking shot

(2/3)

You tell me authorised 

personnel only spills rooted 

inhibitors as by

tying or wrapping

touch this stock with 

speculum brand

the blurred caloric engine

is a poncho emergency

on the perimeter of quarantine

or homeland

(3/3)

You're on the balcony

with those model dream hands

running out the petrol smells

are those future

kidney transplants

your children need

Metropolitan exercising (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Metropolitan exercising ground

dings pleasant demobbing

a chase, a rout marshalled

into view of national history 

pride gets up for honours, 

garlands, plaques, wreaths,

bribes, logrollings
and party per cross the rose

bade favours a spot of 

sport bludgeon on passive site 
the rich vestibule stinks

at the cost of their own death

darn a lace floor cutting 

with dust and flues of wool 

coarsening black ribbon

in underwear the

masters driven testimony 

of a day hole is a chain on 

neck of the child calibrated

to blue and scarlet, 

noise pulls the hungry 

through chastening canard 

the hedged clouds  

minding a view hitherto

padded marketplace 

watch on the mobled curb
under foot the deracinated
companionship merles 
so unkind and dry as chime 
threaded ream of sunlight
on a infringed face soaking up
asthmatic panoramas mouth it 
out quietly as to not upset the
the quiet interior balance 

mine - hence not yours; yours - hence not mine

A crap misaim bottled of sable 

colour wired together 

in clop of blondish tuff

asking for dodo meat again outside 

for old times sake an obsolete light 

stills the silk jackets out in  

Cookham melt brittle toenails to the sun 

purlin in defect blat pril the sweet air, 

wherein my joys are a chest pain 

under the dropping floors 

its satyr chorus of imperium 

hard-ons this soil 

is grace and favour like eaves 

shaded long in a psychodrama 

hell submissive loyal to

portfolio marquee screening 

the kindred grandezza in

nacreous snail trail all popped 

white-collar clubmen 

moue in tandem toby jugged

ranine dinner speech  

muzzle the coffers  

mine hence not yours