Imagine inside banks, embassies,
inside a BBC Broadcast vehicle
& the homes of various
Conservative Members of Parliament
imagine crushing vanes on their necks
or a flag gets burnt
& pinned to skin
i.e. cannot be used as a valid name
to repent or scheme
our official Chingford Skinhead
& no forgiveness
look at frontages fissure
&break up
end the decidability of some numbers
clear some mouths of words
seal life on needless pins in footholds
light itself greyed twice
O woe a bleeding heart
cured hide skin bracken wide
I close up again the slogs of your necktie
beat inwards to you
deadened our meritocracies
as if given new life
what is the average cost of living in the UK?
with stones wandering to &fro
is junk orifice
drops bootstrap racked over coals
picked & needed to grow
need and show
&armfuls crossed stretched wide
the white deb lace curtain
at boreholes to my ear alone
Neighbourhood Watch to say 'life' is sick
to retreat in cinquefoil rusticum jus
steadily worse I close up inside
&hide to myself facial tissues to door breaching
a succumbed imbalance I phone the police
IN THE PAST weeks our demons
have returned to haunt us seeing
the remainder in a cart,
wearing nothing but a shirt
holding a torch of burning wax
on chest weighing two pounds
gored from Broughams
to jobless Gambeson
live now on a dead code
asleep in creosote
is the same light falls off again
where life’s hasp flares
out of anguished
indictments & talk of encroachment
beat myself inside a botched rebel twixt
hung above would never once more be me
&&&&so as I am kneeled
Tommy muezzin Robinson soulless pale of points
drops to hack at your body consumed
by fires &reduced to ashes thrown to winds
that old customs died out
the remaining exploding stars
it might be for us to look on
killing as part of our own nature
Anne Marie Waters
kissed into a stump
within the budding grove
of fleshes red for reds sake
hopeless in thrums
& yet to accept them would be so unimaginable
twisted through now silent
I. I Have Always Worked Hard
willing &at minus
hard on burning a backbone, Barroness Cox
please call me Caroline
on the dawn before a mothball drops
so unworkable that we knowingly
and impotently prefer
shoestring barbed as bootstraped
& racked over coals to a trickle of coded signals picked of need to grow
dear lord I have always been a scab
for as long as I can remember!
a backleg, a knobstick knotted to a rattlesnake
a toad &vampire combined &no it is not a bad business
to have a cork-screwed soul
or a water-logged backbone made of jelly
& glue it fares well
when saved with alms
dancing the Carmagnole!
