Sunday 4 July 2021

Family Office Club-#1 Largest Family Office Association/Ultra-Wealthy Wealth Management (DRAFT)


Tomorrow, Baron Cruddas 

closed for & filled with desiccated incentives 

superintended on my swollen grave inconsequence,

decided not to look inside 

my crawling eyes had their URLs 

redirected in a silent creak of armaments  

& I would like to be at the other hand 

receiving the hardness of facing, 

to bore a hole as he was named 


the richest man in the City of London, 

& failed to leave a proscenium 

in clandestine receipt of money

a hand goes down 

by a croak sapling

&might be overcome or convened 

to reconsider the matter to do better

in the light of all evidence 

the forage of all commitments, 

your own Cash for Hons. 

there is no possible way of making an inference

from the existence of one situation 

to the existence of another

entirely different situation 

to the winding pole 

& to ash wishes we cannot infer 

from events of the future

from those of the present 

a superstition is nothing but belief

shined upon itself for the eschaton 

in a decimals erupting your blood filled 

lotus eaters my upturned smiling face 

poured through languid song

in the City of London, it is business to be fingertipped

this is life from the Alpha Testing System

around chrome balustrade fronted traffic

the environmental zone condemns you 

to Good over Evil, of Life over Death 

&chicanes are both Good & Bad 

like a blockade keg is a still from the viewpoint

where the sun shuts out a boot collapsed to a face.

Peter Baron Cruddas,

your spawn will bare the title 

The Hon'bles to my twitch muzzle 

hardtype or to have a wish repealed 

your URL redirected to 

helping people lift themselves out of poverty 

& stay out of poverty

are swollen patches

stilled in your mouth   

in the corners where your lips meet 

& make an angle

the boundary between public & private

on the walls of the Bank of England 

is sworn sun shuts deleterious song 

in chancel of let do & be Good

by the rule book the Public London Charter 

debugged my linked mangle, 

over stewardship of carving eyries 

& to raise up high on security solutions 

PoP in blood silent frozen 

light hoisted & to do it again

by tackling the root the user crashes in its missing features, slips into cipher docs 

is like a gateway built into a program

that debugged my linked mangle, 

laburnums wrapped in Glencore-mined metals

as  ‘I ate workloads’ to hissing canisters 

&smiled to ruck 

to we cannot give a sign the wrong sense 

& to unspelling our tragic conserves, 


i crawl through the flue of your throat 

the separations are not for privies alone 

& the mob outside your childhood house

 is self-combustible 

shouting at the appalling sky 

impurely occupied & improperly ended,

Peter Baron Cruddas 

of suck & stoles 

of self-refunded woodpiles 

of the new clubhouse insignia & Tory contracts 

uncircle this night of wetrooms  

 piss craved on bended knee  

 this night cries back

cries from heart’s disguise

,the edge of nothing on fetish cries

strike down to my soul here, tomorrow today

helping people to lift themselves up

out of poverty

& stay out 

& go hireling

& strip off get emetic in light sacrifices 

to no starlings

I could have laughed all the same 

for you no birds are released 

for lists are their feelings

as beyond, or dismissive of frozen light 

to hoist and to raise up high

the mock air of a lined glen 

whimper through ‘Abide With Me’ 

Peter Baron Cruddas, 

I hunger despot tears in vermin tracery 

still on my cheeks, the laughter of burning rips up helping people to lift themselves to the stay of being welded around all chicanery in the heart of London! behind asphalt hillocks bullring Corps Body starred in like screaming hires all bossed up production values twisted my shear clip to tongue end on a table in the lyceum, by blots teeth audibly grind together your face sallow now I write these lines upon the whole seedlings.