Mark Kennedy AKA Mark Stone, NPOIU Lynn Watson (alias), NPOIU Marco Jacobs (alias), NPOIU Jim Boyling AKA Jim Sutton, SDS Simon Wellings (alias), SDS Robert Lambert AKA Bob Robinson, SDS John Dines AKA John Barker, SDS Mark Jenner AKA Mark Cassidy, SDS Carlo Neri (alias), SDS "RC" (alias), SDS Gary R. & Abigail L. (aliases), NPOIU Rod Richardson (alias), SDS Mike Chitty AKA Mike Blake, SDS Matt Rayner (alias), SDS Jason Bishop (alias), SDS Dave Hagan/N81, SDS Roger Pearce, SDS Andy Coles AKA Andy Davey, SDS Rick Gibson (alias), SDS Christine Green, SDS Douglas Edwards (alias), SDS John Graham (alias), SDS William Paul 'Bill' Lewis, SDS Alex Sloan (alias), SDS John Clinton (alias), SDS Bob Stubbs (alias), SDS Dick Epps (alias), SDS Michael Scott (alias), SDS Dave Robertson (alias), SDS HN348 / 'Sandra', SDS Dave Jones (alias), SDS / NPOIU James Straven / Kevin Crossland (aliases), SDS Rob Harrison (alias), SDS Jim/Jimmy Pickford (alias), SDS Peter Francis AKA Peter Daley or Pete Black, SDS Vincent Harvey, SDS
To be the common voucher for the character of all the spies & informers in the employ of government from agitated districts, & not only from justice, but from a master of justices, sober, loyal, attached to the constitution, & ready to uphold it by any means necessary are always sacrifices, legislation & British Standards
O wall coils cut to an (e.g. human) warmth
now dog-legged &hole stricken
I sing aloud from this edge & in your light
Dear Sergeant Yobbo, laid doggo
a hurt leg trembling wild
then your own body
control the shaking
not the pain. The pain isn't even there,
friends
your brightest human warmth
assuming like other members
the identity of a body who had died young
& be made into braids of armaments
& worships invisible now through the spy gash
you unmoved clinking ha'porth
made your mouth to not smiling
speak through stolen life,
a name of deceased child
Sarg Yobbo, O hole-strickened hook reaped
tight my own itch
wraith a spiral flicker against my face twice
the hole of this wall! O
I speak your mouths exit a bewitched helve
sunk a knuckle to sunder of thorn by name
by night you have taken this poor duffer
stuffed mother & child on venal breads made nothing
you have put in the cub once
got up the spout twice, stick knocked thricely
in the wind keenly this here; a policeman's child
to assume squatters' rights over
for the next four years
under evensong a life misspelt
a life mislaid & love of you
Sarg Yobbo, ,
entwined code weaving
out a spy gash
infiltrate & debase of each wastlings
now forsworn to be
a forged life sundered
in one's own' death certificate--
Frederick Forsyth’s novel 'The Day of the Jackal' explains how to acquire in the name of a dead person & the practice has proved popular among those who would defraud the benefit system or who wish to travel abroad incognito.
of personhood avoid infant death (under 1 years old) or people aged over 16
with my hand set down
Mr Yobbo,
how many are in your creation & unreceived
this broken lamp emails trails
iamfatherted@yahoo.co.uk has expired
delivery failed permanently
& so to blood caught
I give curses re-emerged as dead votes,
dad a shaft of light stricken white
since you ruined my life Sarg Yobbo,
closed to skin of mine swathed in vela
to be held in covers & sheets
to be made into a blackjack or baton upon this cosh
in reverse of you
with a mouth of rolled
& folded papers
form an improvised weapon of beermats,
horse brasses, polo mints, shoelaces
& boots squashed into a cosh
a stealth weapon
Sargin to create a handle haft
& rounded head at the fold
there a promise pass'd speak long-lost
shy bolted shilled of memory & raked with holes
a secret unit clawed to grapnel nail
of a boy is dead is the whole data,,, irrational ,pellet,
&I in this foisted bloodrot hail upon,
let sorrow say this undid my name tangle
& made me at St Catherine's House a grappling hook.
Yobbo spawn
boy to dog
a foul for what I speak
Do you remember when you fingered my lifehole!
made of me strange & want nothing
formless of touch
so sighs & tears cover
a prodding
haloed & shuddered
to hatred if it does not invert suck
into love through piercing laughter
& what chokes are masks intended
as the slanting edge of ‘morrow gone to give curses
for 36 yobbos of philharmonic pitch
sang out,
kiss my mouth a boy inverted spells yob
faithed to unitched in Margaret Thatcher’s grain
bled to sink a knuckle of eviled blame
an oath of twisted faces
& each year underworking light
I, YOBBO SING INNOCENCE IS TRUE
under a full moon big & bright
I like to imagine
Christopher Noland, the Last Tory
crying into empty space, to empty shells of insects, everlasting.
He wears periwinkle cufflinks,
black pants, & a herringbone waistcoat.
He sips at a flask of tea.
His soothing air of self-command
is not an affectation; it is borne out of a sense of duty
he counts his steps with a whisper
‘What would David Lean do?’
he asks himself rhetorically. No
n..NNo answer is forthcoming from the dead,
yet he is charmed, momentarily, by his interior accent.
“We’ll go aerial.”
He once wept while reading Hobbes at a boarding school of military persuasion taught him that life is nasty, brutish, & short.
Out there, he remembers, in the fallen world
people are mired in a war of all against all.
‘There is no society . . .’ a dim voice echoes, somehow incepted into his mind…..
ESCAPING THE TYRANNY OF THE MAJORITY
