Thursday 28 May 2020

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