iii.
Michael Richard Weatherley,
in borage up to my neck fingering
stars through a keyhole you are to the offences
under the 1977 Act blinking on & off
an invisible switch I died through
saw stars twinkling above blinking on & off
inside a billfold slither I croak’d
remote to me by some appalling skein
through a keyhole I see on all the possible plagues of the world
of warning enclosed is of canted arms
this Catherine wheel symbol of martyrdom,
his grooming tool, denotes a service
this industry means perseverance & I move over it
in suntrap the restless
rising & falling of a gigantic heart
forever pumping a scythe 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 of the corporate body
there was the creation of closed holes
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
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 hauled 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
to cut inside by integer for Fiscal Stylus a hole,
8pence wide inside is starched thermoplastic now
an object position has taught me
politics is not politics game over
