Thursday 22 December 2022

Bookmarks (draft/unfinished)



–We’re going to do an ambush, yeah

–Yeah! see that there? that's an HA flag that  

there that's the  Hddflag but they’ve disguised it 

so you can’t recognise it

black and red though, isn't it! 

–yea black and red so you can’t recognise it

–I’m just going to go in and ask 

for some awkward books, so they can’t recognise 

me just wait 3 minutes isn’t that long, 2 minutes 

3 minutes…isn’t that long is it 

–so they can’t recognise 


Opens door

–Excuse me sir?  

Have you got a copy of Enemies of the State? no…no 

or Muhammad’s Quran? No..maybe..No 

or Tommy Robinsons Muhammad’s Quran?                     



–Corbynist pedophile lovers 

–Pickering fucking pedo scab. Traitor?!?

Do you have no books on Gramsci? 

Do you have no books on pedophilia? 

violent fascist communists I demand all the books 

on pedophila here now in my hand!

pickering on my 

recurrent flashing my

heart rate you scalded  

to be kept in —they’ve disguised so you can’t recognise 

look at this clopping shit massive giant cloud

my frozen tongue my lunar light 

the future is society 

breaking into bruised life 



Today, why don't you leave the planet?!!,!? 

no books so you can’t recognise 

they’ve disguised it 

your mind is broken your mind

is fucking broken articulate a sound,

a feeling a sensation Pickering bin of lillies 

that is my feeling Pickering 

shut down for hatred

my feeling 

my hate as it criminalises 

I refuse to plead I demand all the books 

on pedophila here now 

pickering on my 

recurrent flashing my

country is bleeding to death. 



The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want 

he leadeth me into green pastures 

the sun also rises as an act of habit

or estimating 

worth during an interspace 

of habit estimating better times 

when the flames spread radially 

around petals and all were alight, 

stems rose slowly from the gaping 

floorboards peeling upright  

with a single massive flame 

a sacred gasping clap went 

around the anvils of my tears, 

The country I love is bleeding to death.

Deliberately I refuse to plead to pedos  

& is alive beneath the surface 

of the skin or dead tissue 

there are some places left to die there are some people left to die 

Look you fucking corbynite 

life has tired out in rings of shite

enter the pantheon of folk music

enter at the end of a night 

to touch my intimate nerve as it coils 

round a call for vanished faces 

and everywhere becomes suddenly birdsong 

and morning doves and the dirt beneath my feet

 bodkin points 

through my lashing tongue 

sticks me here to the seven nation army generation

as it passes away 

another generation cometh 

in this earth abideth forever 

the queen of england 

the Corbynosphere.  

A river running alongside everyone 

paid in golden sovereigns 

no one was ill or died 

the weather was perfect 

and you could get 200 pints of bitter 

for a quid 

in a bushel the English National Dance 

is Boomps a Daisy, the war has ended  

the water has been

drained and filled in with

flowers! oh! & our boys never left home 

they worked hard and made do with nothing 

Sixtus Dominic Boniface would hold the annual coconuts shy

we would all be burning the European Maritime Safety Agency manifesto.

The country I love is bleeding to death, 

but they’ve disguised it so you can’t recognise it 

a mantel of suet patsy, a soft touch 

we use to beat frogs to death 

O' old glories of the palaestra

in the midsummer evenings remember

the river the games field

the view was undying; 

rushes by the water every day in sotto voce.