Bullring Corps Body starred in like screaming hires
& everybody hot seated on Granary Sq.
all bossed up production values
off a squatlove wind sore not swept
the boundary between public & private bokes
O fingernail’d symphony go mutineer atonal
on the walls of the Bank of England
our Soviet stitches undivided,
Stuckhard granite paramilitary LTD
all heathen reliquary muzzled typehard
& wish repealed
on ONE MILLION POUNDS of parquetry
the lozenge blackens to mirth
by fifes beneath them grandee
sun shuts out on a witness stem
giving up deleterious song
in chancel of let do & be a fingertipped
It Is Business.
By the rule book the Public London Charter
debugged my linked mangle, over stewardship
of carving eyries &
security solutions
over the furrowed glebe
blood silent & frozen out.
Cut hole to bury Britpop head first
& where are our houses? allied by blood or other affinities kindling a Winter of Discontent on
Royal Warrant emoted the depths of shyer creatures
&bags full of rotten fruit & caustic soda
thrown from bad wood warped under veneer
to eat shade under the arch-shaped roof
boss fed Facegym
slipping my palsied heart too dull to sympathise with
& teeming underneath paroxysm
you speak down from my heart-to-heart .
Inside the ladder intravenous its eye worm isthmus
cancelling dry humming ferns
polices the knowledge quarter
before the popular glories of the palestra
offers keash braids, bam brows
pavan henna behind asphalt hillocks
all chicanery in the heart of London
is a well lined glen welded around chrome
balustrade, of medieval liberty.
Lauded into Colophon, black falls down
PoP goes the mock utopian air
& public-space gurus vet enterprise on
hissing canisters smile to ruck
wrapped in Glencore-mined metals
Downed Taliban beauty curved to threads
of ash into dark walnut pews
deteriorated every living sign
traded fair on straw bale walls.
In Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton HOUSES
programs in subversive thinking are too idealistic
hence cruel & whipped up in the gentlemen clubs
velveteen small men,
& Prince conformity, raw emotion gets a clinical picture
guarded triage inside tawse broken
under clubhouse insignia The Wetrooms
of Tory contracts & desexualising
ermine trimmed jackets
fetish cries on the edge of nothing
cries back wrapped
in swaddling clothes
piss craved &bended knee
Strike down to my soul: here
despot tears in vermin tracery
still on their cheeks, whimper their way through
‘Abide With Me’ no girls save the Chaplain’s daughter
