I have piled my little heart
to worship the road through the cows pasture
by peat moss is now jackbooted churlish
but I digress as hours are swallowed to all the broad acres
all of Kennington Common, remember enclosing it
with other armholes such as larch and paste
My hon.
landowner crimps the menials
&tendon maturities end to end
I will start this debate with a quote:
trespass on land& you will be kicked hard
one inch below the heart,
no doctor will console you
no doctor will defend your blood gargled mouth
from overflowing,
left alone in the corner as the night downs
upon a blundered pane of glass
a mirrored grey sallow face appears
covered in a tangle of lichen
kissing all the while the back of your now dead neck
thumbing & fingering, Michael Richard Weatherley
summoned the whole of canting arms
otherwise known as LASPO
introduced by Kenneth Clark
Within the territorial extension of the UK
as per Weatherley's law terms were made, helmet showed
in favour fo the corporate body
there was the creation of closes
was an enclosure was by those who acted together
was united in one person before the sovereign
when any lord shall enter the Parliament chamber
to assign to him his place, according to his dignity
& degree, to carry the ensign of the order
for the offence of abstracting electricity,
or climbing through an open window
the maximum sentence
is five years’ imprisonment
rows of fifteen slept side by side
on the floors of cells intended for a single person,
strolls were held at various times of the day
in shifts are itching & this cannot go on,
you have to strip down everything
to the screws down back to the old
cordoned scrap my die-sinker
rows of fifteen irrecoverably the same
& upon & under a map-like skin
you revel at taken root
like to so & with that inside you
cannot refute inside this property
you cannot
‘I want somewhere posher,
with a swimming pool if possible’,
incredible numbers were cited,
until they bled until they bared
the teeth of its oversized haul
enlarged by the atropine of hunger would you?
fuck a balance sheet off to the margins behind
&crossed off greyed impenetrable prison walls,
build it all over again & once & for all
the plans are ready & the builders fingers
are itching but the old corroding life blood
& to fail to leave a property within 24 hours
we must work closely with enforcement authorities
& to woe to woe to woe
it is late & my soul is dark also
have you seen my eyebrows
drop with rubber truncheons
until they bled trampled pavements I leaned against,
looked in.
My hon. Fiend will
throw pails you shied away from
smiling quietly for you only I tear apart
the smart box of the cell of hallucinogenic film,
with a flick of the wrist softly
on his clot, piled & only the strong
settled stalling for them inside
onto a man of no more,
of teeth truss
if there is sufficient evil croaking
of teeth, rose above the street
they are organised & frequently menacing
lived in barred in a predatory
of teeth, rose above the street
dirty stray mutts
little short docked fox terriers
choking odour wandering
down the knotted labyrinth,
the maze separation is seven yelps,
you survive the maze separation
is five years’ impurity a pack of dogs,
outside the house is a door
outside the door is a handle
shielding foul contents,
from this barred teeth came a hoarse rattle
'its mine now, go somewhere else!'
like gull tangled in the rigging
of it is widely flown ownership
as a stand-alone flag
within the territory shielding
foul contents from this barred teeth
a hoarse rattle holds the doorhandle
this is a doorhandle
this is my doorhandle made of a face
resembling someone receiving their benevolence,
behind the Rolls-Royce factory
someone is receiving
their benevolence in Goodwood, England
designed by architect
Sir Nicholas Grimshaw merging effortlessly
into the beautiful West Sussex countryside
the award-winning building was created to lower
our environmental footprint,
sped a motley rabid pack of dogs
barking & squealing you have received your portrait
as a recipient as a door handle
Please come inside now
above the street underneath
tendrils of containers
of decomposing waste rotting through
our foul contents, go somewhere else!
receive yourself somewhere else
a choking other through a scream.
We must work closely with autocracies
into the stinking drain hole,
smiling quietly for you only
on a low wall licked eagerly,
of which it isn't nice enough for me,
I want somewhere with a swimming pool
like a bolt from the heavens a simple revelation
struck to the layabout in gad,
taming its numb stupor
can arsehole squibs for officers
such as crinoline damsel burnish,
theology or the unauthorised use of vacations
if there is sufficient ewe of gulch
I want somewhere posher,
with a swimming pool
if possible for space between me
and the gale
they are civil ores, but as I said,
I want somewhere posher
with a swimming pool if possible!
Michael Richard Weatherley,
in the borage up to my neck fingering
stars through a keyhole
to the offences under the 1977 Act,
I died through holes
saw the stars twinkling high above
blinking on & off with a flick
of an invisible switch a billfold you slither
a crooked window shutter
to see tucked inside
A veal rib that could still be gnawed
to the tune the national living wage
of fingermark I cluck a purse remote to me
by some appalling skein occupied
through a keyhole you own this annulet this acorn
this grooming tool, denotes service
this industry means perseverance &
this emblem of warning enclosed is
also of canted arms
this billet this bishops metre
this Catherine wheel
this symbol of martyrdom,
a torture device in its day
all the possible plagues of the world
in this one spotted eye this eternal emblem of providence
on the slightest of grief unable to forgive
this is my house this is my home foraged
of horrible instinct I move over it
gingerly every day dusting & polishing it
with fragile lives & undone
of preservation of this illusory world
of hopelessness you the death of a living creature
You the living death of a doorhandle
behind this seemingly unconscious pane of glass
a gurgle of hands
a daytime cube of the city,
illuminated in the countless blinking of eyes
to leave a property within 24 hours of being served
this place isn’t nice enough for me
I want somewhere posher, with a swimming pool
if possible with inscriptions invisible to daylight
in the head cracked with pain
its meaning unknown to the symbol of a man
of action of one who will fight if provoked
who will fight in the street if provoked
for the symbol of eternal life my country
an emblem of industry,
a lozenge wedged in the middle of this place
isn’t enough for me then not smiling
Bootstrapped in suntrap the restless
rising & falling of a gigantic heart
forever pumping a scythe
the emblem of husbandry not death
the cork tight inside etched a doorframe
itself a titling spear a knight in service
a body of a horse, the legs of a buck
& the tail of a lion all topped off
with a twisted horn, a symbol of courage
below faded to silence an unseen switch flicked
light broke out into places unseen
my family coat of arms are on this door
which means I own this one cutting edge
one dutiful place behind John Humphrys
came on the Today programme
this morning to ask
if it was time for Parliament
to consider implementing the 1928 Act
to fix the date of Easter
chopping bars of entrails symbol of resurrection
& the magic incantations cured kindly
to the door of a collapsed large red star
pulsing through his shaded helm ring
around his peerless light
insigne decorum this is my house
and I want somewhere posher,
with a swimming pool if possible
people dissolving in the giant vat of the city
clung spasmodically still payments were made
by any who care to unpossess it,
enamelled in their teeth are
proper colours whispered bulletin
through the door
opened just a crack a message
'its mine go somewhere else!'
