Bombardier, the vein of leaf
provides early warning signs
of danger like a plume in the
industrial furnishings remember
nothing changes hands now;
hands have gone to heaven
with roses bestride slipping under
the structural adjustment programme,
reached a flotilla of budding poppies
I lock out all the tantrums of mind
inside are pseudo adult-children
crying wall to wall in Burton Montagues
kicked me in, went pan barbaric
my swaddling clothes cut up
like meat at dinner
I retained my backbone mind,
filed combat mode eating the loam with birch buds
nightly, long and hard in the shit and drawn blood
muted you feckless lilly prute
go blaston go sea! days of sunshine and
youth mounting guard the cold mud
hardly a day passing without the mortal
cod this my metal in plastic nerve
where is my Justice of peace?
outside old men one heart valve you exit
the perimeter is everything a platoon
splits in the craven mind the wind blows
Hans Zimmer film score on plucky wooden wings
over tossing fireworks
into fires Master looks on people
they make you laugh, you know
falling across the tv I slogged for!
woe these frig clips to
stopcock or wiretap do not weary me
where is my Justice of peace?
where are the backsides of culprits?
Winklepicker bloodsport
gentled by European Union legislation,
still it's about personal honour that
never dies its blue club faintly sinking
giggling into the sea so be it!
and now they want OUR milk!
well that's business! 101
pennies don’t fall from heaven drearies!
STOP and we’ve curved the vapors of Hades
they sniff the albumin of satanics,
out of dodge and into the broadside pleasure-land
sing and valse away with
coats and hats and so on
reached a flotilla of budding poppies
I lock out all the tantrums of mind again
eat my loam with birch buds
twice nightly, they make you laugh, you know
people!
You, Sir Piggate admit
an air of Benthamite utilitarianism!
christen it simple and morally good action
repeat on Christmas, roasting animus
it is necessary, remember plain and simple!
and you must mast for service,
silence for speech! Listen
salvum iam facito tu dominum
a réchauffé was served up, you didn’t eat it
an invisible hand shudders over you ever since
remember why two silver spoons you couldn't
red nose in Church Of England prayerbook,
kiss tight to bursting heart upon the raised dais
after dusk sine die, get backbone
drag behind sore old growing ripening inside
boys remember running through reeds and rushes
para bellum my legs boys on the pulse, bin of lilies
get backbone drag behind ripening inside
my sacerdotal dad made of dust
bigger than your dad, also made of dust
I wish him a strange sort of happiness,
there is no pain two silver spoons there is
only angels gulping salt water everlastingly
I see my sinner brazes with eminent grise
I call it Masher, king of misbehaving and sitting in
Boughs preparing a brief speech to the assembled
boys now men no pain now just calendric time
days of sunshine and youth do not wash
cobnut it is the tenderest
lovebite I ever hastened, could you sore that
spot rub-a-dub here my final demand, my Masher
death approaches call me Dave, here simply
my Desert Island disks; Adagio for Strings or
My Old man is a dustman, depends who’s asking!
