gamma squeeze (draft)

Sweepstake the browser

burning powderhouses a

short squeeze on the confederations

of pricing recherché 08'

remember suitcases over zephyrs 

the hearthrug of a coup setup

instead the end of some business day

say a cloudless skyscraper of anemone 

in uprated aerodrome of my face 
cheats for fresh start from purchaser dictum

another gladbook flickering to meet 

'We're not interested in a logic course' 

dancing sporadic plasticity of derivatives; 

where is my ingrain manager? thrust 

where is my talon of undone thirst?

a cloudless skyscraper, one that mingles 

with the humming of bees 

shaman trader on roof platform 

jumps a lifeline to a lifeline 

with clinked glasses, 

and singing of larks

it is difficult to learn to perform 

ethically in the Clubhouse Finale 

the episode Robinhood learn word of the day is:

Guillotine; a sacrifice topological printout

of thermal quanta asympote 

the Parliament House, or Dung Market (Draft)

 

Like Todays Story of the Shirt

a plateful of sundry wretches 

in such a way that they could 

only have endured it, but ask 

on about the villages?

your Middlesex and Epping forest

happy people like pilchards in bottom

cask under cook the dome of sky, 

where nothing is wasted nothing is spoilt

frizz salver piss in a pot look

or hang off spit and ill-blood

even if you have no property

by the nightshirt liniment enjoying the anon?

squabbling on a livelihood

I don't much care for beautiful 

buildings run over with flowers, 

Bastion builds flashing on off 

a ward-mote leads to factory garden

bibbing in sun before the 

looted scaffolding comes down 

Adrian Glasspool, last resident 

we cannot maintain '26 acres of land

for one person' blood hooked 

stack commuter sprawl w/ broken 

statist one by one for flogging 

proper down the metropolitan line 

mortarboard tradition staggers

to a croupier fireside chewing 

nothing much but embers 

of prole-whispers romeo y julieta

gives us bad chests solidarity 

comrades signing off for lack

of cap touch to the very cleanest 

of beautiful souls

earldom starves in the fiend 

of modest deliberation;

like a charred linnet buff

burning for burnings sake 

tend sideways for attrition of one 

market denominator pierrot on

true-hearted behind the News Corp drawbridge 

what shape our bananas have got to be, 

and all that kind of thing or

a high-leviathan foisted arbitrage

like the gaffer's yonder; 

and expert experts form permalinks 

of Continentalist stanchions 

to and fro in worry, 

one handbook to another, belayed

send us up a glass to drink then!

Tumour on Rotting Hill, 2021

 

Oil on expensive European Canvas 

30cmx39.5cm 

Dido Harding Bleeding Out a Stone

You must live off plenaries 

in the tiny pip the rental market 

is an alternative fact than the idyll 

of freezing mud its venues in six silhouetted 

storied separations we lay deligh- 

tfully still in our thousands upward

pissing what is cause over effect? 

what is a child infirmary guild? 

Answer: a loud scree, Rishi

a mothball belly collapses to 

capsule red yearning 

and pining I saw feral boys wandering 

out the imploded evil box 

with cracked heads all reckless with stones 

and things like that,

Dido Harding you see her 

after a cyber attack  

or something revealing the details 

of four million faces that's why

anonymity is sacred and 

facelessness is sacrifice! 

so put the human racecourse 

within the exclusion zone!

Participant Manfred Loves You

remember like the softest plush toy 

ever all biding in planter silk 

Homeowner 'watch-it-burn' 

in a McDonalds toilet over and over

again in their elements for good reason 

on Ketamine, acting empathically

blood out of stone and so on,

acting like it’s hurting close 

your eyes into the stresses 

Sefton, Horse of the Year

on route to Changing of the Guard 

Dido Harding bleeding out a stone

with cards and mints and things like that

those that died were called 

Cedric, Epaulette, Falcon, Rochester, 

Waterford, Yeastvite and Zara

all this sweetness all in 

dark outside clipping, we thought 

we saw it moving. We had to shoot it 

to relieve its suffering 

the clubhouses have moved again

like we've all got some socialism 

inside us and no one has scabies, Dido Harding 

there's no misery for good reason 

like rocks Dido Harding bleeding out 

over Quango our empty white lanyards 

all seem to be shrinking through our insides

echo grey are bloodless stones Dido Harding

in the carbine in the ellipse in a- 

nything representing a motorcade

of hate you’re still the 

same persuasion rick with h- 

eart of shrapnel, and we will nev 
er die, softly or faintly again

in a rentiers ring-a-rosie at 
noon our little empty lanyard dangles

out, Serfton archangel partly swollen,

without blood in a full state kit

we have to exit the vicinity only 

real workers can stay on site only 

Dido Harding still to come and 

we will never tell them, even a 

single word picked out of a rose

spoken I would rather die than 

become a Rose scabbing

from the glasshouse rental market

rocks that flinch for no good reason

I don't care my life is freezing 

mud and thawing out in 

sunhats O up-to-drizzle 

off inheritance lets chalk 

ourselves to the perma-dorms of

the poor students fuck off Andrew Neil 

is hard as nails hard as faeces 

hard as the Labour Party is full of 

hearties with dispensaries 

my factotum is twisting in

all looking out on open 

heart surgery hot seated 

in the HR dept is

representing brightness itself 

like everything denied to 
us is flowing through our 

workload upon Homeowner 

I, without an alias 

Labour Party fuck off 

the sunhats O the sublime O

with lightship O rainstorm like 

distinct ideologies never hustled anyone 
sometimes it feels like there’s 

nothing we can do about it

underneath a bandstand 

HomeOwner

 

 

In red tarn speak with nettles 

a codex of twilight workload,

my twisted fingers wrought 

in a turnabout no rest breaks I

implode planted sedge rags 

off poor eaten rep fucking 

corpuscle in Southwark 

drubbing a homeowners lock

an eyelash cuts Hail Mary's 

from glasshouses as upward mobility

titled 'The Grandparent Effect'

O childminders of the gabardine,  

hand outs are a creed too!

its a living put the kibosh on

a scarcity holograph slithers me to my 

sepulchre of worked chimes 

an unhurt word stings out

to kickback in real time trademarked

disincentive to cathode tearaways 

underneath chirrup 

with an overbalance sweetener,

Chartwells green spouts strong 

& stable choir boy harangues in mid-hue

I’m an apolitical tee banging the bishop

from a ballot box a voice

says swivel is all you need 

Exploding Head syndrome

it's a Causeway over mattock Homeowner

Reckfuls Final Moments on Twitch (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

 

H.M. Factory Inspectorate

on swan pedalo holding on

the repository roll

to ameliorate sooner or later 

a floor operative all the way 

back to Heaven again 

I planted secret radios

on the banks of the Euphrates,

held together by a dry leaf picket line 

and carried on sniffing ether from my bowl

O to toil in the rubicon 

makes you sore bellicose 

before the barcarolle resumes

as happy music, you cry out 

rooted to the harmonic spot

teeth-whitening indoors again 

“It is the next day.” no teeth

you hadn't realised nodding cruxiformed 

in the London sky beading red

I pray to the ArcelorMittal helter-skelter

twice nightly, reduced me to cathedral tears 

to drinking to waking smiling  

to eventually running as Oracle 101 

over creches of voluntary Hi-Vis blowing 

white flags from the Dream Station, unstuck

a concrete pillbox slips into shimmering pontoon 

I set North to a flue gas stack empty people 

reconstruct a kind of twilight of working, 

a sort of unblinking cosmic relic 

of spared hamstrings in Worker jackets

torn adrift to be today? 

in the deep morass of history 

the Dream Station sinks I lay out 

go back to the most insurgent rostrum 

I ever had mined 

my Hammarn soft-bed, unclothed

fretting and tinging I lay down

and equipment rends on in my absence

an image vanguard in pell mell

there was no illness inside me

only contracted speaking from above?

Oracle 101 'They do how?' versions of 

Monday converge in renal cortices 

as the New Dark Age taps my moth eaten 

hands swipes right off command 

stuck in I am scentless with peak freedom 

a red tape rolodex wraps around

my neck sheds a rubber stamp 

Friday my doctor throws the book

throws the gears of my virtual

skelecog in the choking fug 

reunite near the water cooler

but withdrawal time runs

down inside me I am sad to report

scarcity through a key-hole slither

I speak with my neighbour 

he says "Get in early."

helps the Oxford Mindfulness Centre 

comes twice a fortnight with my ether bowl

it drives a bendy bus 

usually found badly animated

'It doesn't, does it?' 

with fare-dodgers scrumming the rear

all falling off quiet as pelch, 

I take the bowl from a red rose

tattooed hand swollen with resting blood

O centurion of stale twinge

in my nostril and heavy antecedent love

white-on-red in a kind of English pastoral 

projection, I lay back its Reckful's final 

moments on Twitch 808 

do not interrupt intrusive 

for euphony

 

In Boiling England, 2020

IN BOILING ENGLAND, 

2020 

30 new poems 
62 pp, self-published bound paperback 

At the UK National Living Wage £8.72 GBP 

Paypal: 

https://paypal.me/ColeFrenchum?locale.x=en_GB

£8.72 GBP for mainland 
£10.72 GBP for International 

Or email: coledenyer@live.co.uk

I've broken the cult of youth in my head (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

 

Today a fascist coiled my skin

trampled in the rotunda

bandoliers on their shoulders

to survive egg slicing mini-harps

centrifugal some copse sunn blonde 

today I weep on Larcom Street

windows blown out 

in prop debris the hands and feet

of production teams swindle

me off medium incantation 

today my skin in trickle ip

dawn wire adds neither 

smoke to my proper wish 

bores on liver,

by several CYP isozymes 

today I take inhibited lines never

tomorrow I loathe 

venal breads  

and water so what of it 

a postman mile stands on my chest

and to rationalise a yesterdays

trig point etheric 

today over years, with no heft

the rubber teat 

is treated like dog ball

in tussock hiding ash 

barricades today my butter house

I drink a cup of 

unhappy rabbit 

Geschichte des Stuhls (Faust Shkaravsky), 2021

55cmx90cm 

Oil on expensive European fabric 

 

Maddie as Maggie, 2021

 

35cmx35cm 

Oil on Expensive European Fabric