Jayda Kaleigh Fransen (Christian patrol) stage IV, 2022

 

Oil on canvas on expensive European fabric 

35cmx45cm

Pour T. & Rector Powder blinds (draft/unfinished)

CPRP VS. 

Chaim Poju This Rector Powder 

wows cold hard to the nose

of economic retribution X

courses & the books left

pc accuse moi abscond

vulnerable industrial ghosts

in pits stream

O Boss Viva V8 Series 

I need 'Quick Release' Crevice Tool 

inside green envy call out evils 

the dust locks the poor door in pigeon wire

makes everyone co-conspire 

to liberate Africa, Korea

Cuba & Egypt too

Poju Rector purchases 

Rhodesian Marxist-Leninist posters 

for 30 UNICEF Child Friendly Ambassadors

aged 11-16yrs in the city of Chorazin,

snapping fingers

the melting pot broils 

some infinity pool of future patrons

on the ground of great cultural foundations

you sing aloud

reverse image in IAE.

The Rector Powder its rooftop is alive

its pool lounge bar, gym

its Cowshed spa its Final Boss

that spirited lubrican charms 

in a wrong circle, 

to reach each participant’s home 

black umdala 

of high dividends

yielding equities  

a martinet scrotum

white as a clubmens stiff

Zimbabwe & Hypocrisy in the Art World

name the coins 

this minicab is mine.

Microsoft Teams Hell (draft)

 Microsoft Teams Hell 

They’ve taken the phone away

& finally installed Teams, Chat 

& videoconferencing, file storage 

& application integration a life

bowed into a trig point etheric 

& mine are made of cables 

& eyes that get internal 

alone on the scale of management 

a stone in your mouth from an 

maintained box you must keep 

going on the care password is stamp call

& this information is most important

but does not reflect the actual duration of protection 

or approval to untruth of tearing on & out

the chemical resistance in of the workplace is 

HAHSAHSHASHDHASHD 

the floor which is the place force breaks onto 

 4 metre alacrity wireless scanner 

are to be embraced

but to maintain all starred inventory levels

& all failing components,

as a fist closes to work 

esprit de corps 

this is mission critical,, the causative connection is discretion 

& the rewards system tangle up 

inside a head, strike in nonverbal cues 

to the meeting of looking & 

the frequency of glances 

& patterns of fixation, 

&&&

as in pupil dilation, blink rate 

teeth which hang-up in gurgles

to slither out from, beneath or down 

or to shut through crawling 

envelopes walls & the notyetwindows 

are unmonitored fingers, that nail you

from which wishes ungrant a brow of worksong 

Inside from out the Veolia bin lures 

our said things are meaningful but 

more to become stolen time or in bloodthick 

fiated evasions, as if madrigals brigged 

like blockades 

you love what you do 

remembering the floors 

have absolutely no cracks

where a sinkhole increases daily

touching to pass the history of dispassion

under mercury vapour light 

greenish white over the Centre Management Office 

peeled out the arachinards of the body

from silver poisoned breathe the words

a Brief Job Stress Questionnaire 

I hash for life 

under brambles churn up bike chains, 

hammers, beautiful wires, 

people, shoes & in afterglow stilled

with this loot to ban in the welfare room

of no hope your body

in sickness presence 

is turned up ctrl alt del 

a path model n.b 

this variable  

is explained in the Results Section: 

‘arrows with solid lines represent 

the statistically significant paths, 

and broken lines to show 

the nonsignificant paths.’

in failed colours no kindred place 

behind gates ramified lanyard 

grows skin to concrete  

in sore spots developing 

antipathies to life working 

constitutive company directives 

are imperative to this scattergraph 

here fading through 

mute phone my union rep 

sing Josh Grobin’s incarnation  

of You Raise Me Up  

a Hymn shared, gave thanks 

There For You 

in declined hardship 

to bitten toxics 

the daily motions repeated

on business premises 

touch in on alacrity wireless scanner 

around the intimate nerve 

the caseworker who triaged you

as a priority stage 3, 

at the end of night 

Hymn went away 

& 

Bloodfiled fingertips 

the scattergraphs biff to company flag

weaning into a stranded call 

as one totality one massive high-quality, 

loyal, fun, goal-orientated 

finality at the break of day 

refrained to ask

What are you glued to today?

the outside clamor tells me 

you can grow concrete, 

if you try as I break under the line 

that was mine in breath 

struck your sad dead jingo rat 

now are you stuck? inside 

a glue thin eternity 

awakening at the brimming 

growth of a New Town 

via an undeveloped country lane 

grown bigger & brighter between 

trees & shrubbery 

the songbird stilled inside 

desperately where lugfails v-shaped 

Société Anonyme hived-off starbursts 

as tetches leaking into pigeon-holes 

doorframes some unison

branch & intumescent names

sit in chairs sealed persons 

carpeted to bossed chains under communiqués

are anti-fending life 

as the immediate Hymn goes away

THE PMC (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

   THE PMC 

RIP the working class

& while you’re at it backing

tholse pain tings, in melamine 

Yellow plaintive 5 year chembinge 

fist in the ground, the plastic 

Bank of America Proud Patron Saint 

ashtray of terrified Russian fur hats

check hourly notifications,  

sign into austerity five-pointed

spitball sermon in the morning 

beat matchsticks out of your own head

fall into amygdala hijacked to manja line

chainmailed Complaints & Corrections

a prefatory note to the 

PMC to go back to Degenerated Worker States

members of the 1 percent rise up

& scribe swindled things 

to gentler sounding fingerdust.

RIP the working class

parlez-vous folksmart

laying aggy footmarks 

on dogsbody roughcast strung up 

to high heavens where the social pathology

of a greasy pole gets delivered

time sensitive working papers

filled in the mouths of

The Transmitted Deprivation Research Programme 

home-made casualties

within artificial hellcaps

get wrungtrotted days on nopay 

piss under no boss

in Jack of PLATE toxing bed,

stiffen chartered hails

come down, choir boy Chartwells 

milligram by milligram

the spithaw berries get glued

to rags with cultivar traits

the pit of the good people? 

the good shovel? the good holes?

emulsified vain fistfuls 

sold matrixes like pills out a bough 

bract naked the seed inside your throat

a battleground lost & the skies

spark & die with zephyrs

over city interns 

burning the magic roundabout 

to teeth wet brogues

rip the working class a recruitment

blasted agency firmament vaults all life

to thrice your spine as the pin-drudges

and seize your heart as it raises 

to a clog the medicament pall, 

falls out histrionically

& gone suddenly to half-day firebrands

in stamens scriven cold.

 

 

 

Crying onions looking at Art (draft/unfinished)

 For Adam

Little miners riding starfish 

are skinned to moonlight 

both filipino both Irish 

and warm pieces fall out 

tolerances in our silhouettes 

said to be turning

but you want to see them fawning 

boiling grass painted garden butterflies 

as the velcro sticks to decommissioned 

postmans jackets, paradigm

just enough so it could be barely anything else

and the history of work 

is in my mouth from leftovers 

beautiful hegelian friends levitating 

imbalances just hope that glow filled 

blood on moonbeams is yours,

and yours alone

so bend plea-filled

& prowl bedside

the pleb seedling

in my mouth is from leftovers

the history of work 

you cannot see the other side of 

a resume curriculum vitae

folded artificial hillocks

between coal drops yard

and waitrose leads blind effigies

to burning soufflés