Monday 29 March 2021


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& wish repealed 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