Inside of eaten rent, milquetoast
the corners of black mould gently
scouring loaned iron skillets
or a life non-scarce cosied
and out to lunch hasten
the dock-less night leave me
in one of the many Royal Parks
surrounded by swan meat inedible
coughed up tributaries to a palisade care
from bromides the jobless
giblet of gravy of our species the harder
you shake the pack the harder
a FF175BP fridge-freezer makes sense,
on a Sirius rising to singing polymer
foils its cavity barrier
crowns civis of pulped Celotex
and the omnibus pudding boils for hours
unattended so stay put rend this dotage,
your fault of sweet whips ding-dong
a fine divide in net curtains
or neighbouring skyline of cutpurses
snapped up in sub tenure
I go down to the regeneration department
on a countless heartbeat, fingering
the cool infirmary of municipal socialism,
faked patronage broken
my angiograms in rescue effort and watch
the slenderest margins drop
flake on soaring orphans
with a council tendency support grant
I am catapulted to the event horizon,
Dear Peter John, A Year in Provence
on winter oranges swilling
blood snaps on a pawnbrokers bough
LTD inflated Roman Law it gets milage
as A.D chums blow donee the lot
lost in outtage the midnight flicks
cannot bless me an echo chamber still
so doors locked quick in eviction time
Apostle Peter John, O.B.E
I was the man injecting drugs into his penis
and it will happen again
in nuclear light gangland spired
spare music deep in a bounty corpora
for tillage of Get Living
everything looks great again
