Monday 30 August 2021






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