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.
