Tuesday 3 November 2020

I look up at my death balls. its great, lots of singing dancing. Hand gestures jutting out of corners. Its mine, its my death ball. (DRAFT)


Minted at home, hastened 

bath robe managerial exhibitionist 

on a bacchanal fuddle look me in the eye

pineal disorder look me in the 

ouroboros hoax the lunar house

binge again to a bladdered heart

weltered stoic watching with 

vampiric comfort the regal undying 

cloisters filled shut away and 

sing to yourself hurt the tensor 

lived out a joyless marriage 

for an international baccalaureate 

didn't graduate so eating my fruit

with no backup this adrenal harddrive 

boils under me, a thickener to start.


Blood Billionaires in a geriatric 

paradise get hidden in camomile lawns 

and cowslips illuminate the epistle flax 

irises having your everlasting sweet peas  

and horse meat dinners, I detest  

thru a key-pee a halo of enemy speech   

ousting misty hearts-ease and violet playboys 

the empire varnished like Lutyens dog-ears 

no hope for sustainable leakage reduction analysis

they creep inside your single-glaze lock you 

in you have to pay premium rate 

so so humans MAKE their own history! look  

please fund this carpark! now

for non-legacies of financial big flash in the 

up-scaling pan every carbuncle 

every council balding bestie scalding 

the child entrepreneurial style slasher

Southwark Council is a Tango 

with private equity firms  

Barangaroo under a stone rip off dragnet

cash flows cowabunga.


My temples ringing with reduced global

headcount like fox-hunting the skies its legal

like tenement shift dwelling deeper inside 

my line-managers mangled heart soiree 

will likely vanish and I'll staid on in 

grease-boiling front-line outmarking 

your colleague-enemies London drained

of all human life isn't it fucking marvellous 

now we can really get back to this real post-life 

rebuild and miasma the atmosphere! Footjobbed 

rural retreats are in splinter form round

up all the peanuts, crushed dust

vanguard logisticians 

forming an aleatory map of a city

its winter you forgot a wailing 

offshoot a shrinking gut reboot 

its a gig and go homeless, tough sil 

from the sinkhole forgotten people 

thriving in the undercrofts or pelted windows

lassoing four decades of grouting 

that is HISTORY to the outer dark,  

a thole in my head is unchecked scullery

the pewter scrubs away any civic unrest, 

always did 


We know from reconstruction and you didn't 

listen so I have to set fire to this mountain 

of crated plastic bottles, the size of a short

terrace-house covered in shrink wrap 

stacked on wooden pallets burning all 

day and all night, the plant wall buckled

from the heat inside a rotary of 3 

night-shift types spontaneously relieved 

of their duties whilst the incendiary 

potential kept going and everything 

is take out this smiling law of dead mutton

asleep your town got dug up 

by a quantum chartered surveyor   

bee-lined a subterranean self-care

unit a thole in my own or unseen 

winged ambit flatten me out, run me over 

this parsed national jeremiad unmade 

on cushioned levy on every single soul sought 

doing privation overcome a bed throw 

this rotten rented sink in dynamism 

of a dog leash blow over, again  

clipping has been turned off

the kiss of death on truncheons is a

reliable ticket receipt made quieter 

to the seal of life thicket and spree 

step on the frog and make it crazy again