From falling objects cables & eyes you will get internal
& external holes all the way from inside
to perforate alone & on the scale of care
the password its 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 the workplace
is the brief for recladding updating its energy performance
is supported, exploiting any "hidden homes"
opportunities to deliver additional
to the upgraded public realm
a shared surface connecting
meetings, design workshops, public consultations
to determine and refine a number of design objectives related to
while primarily based on the stated aims of the TMO
and Client aspirations and 'Hidden Homes' housing policy.
where you find in macadamed light
Marx on a beach on Ramsgate sands, 'During an interspace
of silenced tone, with the single word:
'Struggle.'
from the Plains of Waterloo
a Trans-Europa ferry
registered as My Lucky Star is sold for scrap,
hornwracked the moss animal
bryozoan, and some stone jetties
stretch out to the North Sea
was yellowish the night
with dawns early light on young red eyes
lily pink the american reds
Pig Alley with its narrow passageways
remembering Pugin where the disjointed frames
divided into flats of lost symmetry in English house,
and being limbless on benches
on poverty wages the lark was singing
near Albion Gardens "In memory of," dry rot
in our basement flat on Liverpool Lawn
forgotten Augusta Steps
on East Cliff, now to gnarled roots on tider boards
where the grain barge headed for Hudson's mill
'we only need to be lucky once' image macro
infields a profound caesura
in my heart
came too late
and mimics the mires
the unchanging personnel of this class
war sicked to find the cutting instrument
bedded in 72 habitable floors
managing a depressed apex of
tribal rites spraying
au fond terra incognita
My trackiebums in fens
wiping off at the walls of diadem floodlights
a social totality lies outside
the White cliffs over Dover,
in fleet ditches
a dodo skeleton recruitment
waiting room
blood winning ill itch
courier webs thermal herding
on a magic roundabout
dusk breaks shivered and skived
now petaling into jagged metal stripes
hay ricks turf cutting Business Relief Rates
in metropolitan landscrapes then pulls away
through my drearied heart disappears from the skies
to HQ Mountain View closer to sunlight that was never built
but dug from hills and there is no fog
hopeless pruding bitter security solutions
loud as glass
over the furrowed glebe
blood silent & frozen out
British moral life is
trade fair and straw bale walls
reward in Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton houses
a program in subversive thinking save
yourself.
a specialty legacy influence
office blood a horizontal megastructure
up a concrete core in enfilade black
steel laws we have everything to live for
the walkway stretches metal-clade tube
its sick building syndrome
the terms@conditions
which are ills inverted upon you
brightening over glass breaks below the face
is a future data centre wire needle clanks
installed Teams, Chat
& videoconferencing, file storage
& application integration a life
bowed into trig point etheric
the floor which is the place force breaks onto
4 metre alacrity wireless scanner
are to be embraced
in order to maintain all 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 out in nonverbal cues
to the meeting of looking &
the frequency of glances
& patterns of fixation,
&&&
my pupils dilate as blink rate increases
as teeth which hang-up in gurgles
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 this worksong firmament
tied around
pearlescent heavenly bodies,
and the moon of metal, silvered reversed in life itself
the terms@conditions are
headbangers solidifying into architecture
under rainbow statistics
reclaimed & inside Veolia bin lures
our said things are meaningful but
more to become stolen time in bloodthick
evasions as if madrigals brigged like blockades
you love what you do
remembering the floors
have absolutely no cracks
but a sinkhole increases daily
the passing touch under mercury vapour light
greenish white under central management office
you go in atm’s come out
the peeled arachinards of a body
from silver poisoned breathe:
A Brief Job Stress Questionnaire
& hash for life in the welfare room
again of no hope your body
is a sickness presence failing
to turned & up ctrl alt del
this a path model n.b
this variable is explained in the Results Section:
‘Arrows with solid lines represent
statistically significant paths,
and broken lines to show
nonsignificant paths.’
plume luncheons server clangs by crook’d
bridle tubing; my heart
undoes the nap-pods inside a past
a millennial ungloved
bleached white and
accelerates in the dark
sick lamplight
its glen perishing eyelashes
in love among viaducts
as the only sense of freedom
in pause areas a sinkhole
increases dismantled blood goes in,
atm’s come out
the history of mercury vapour
lighting greenish white
over the Centre Management Office
from the home counties to the red wall,
and the Cornish riviera
to the Teesside marina
the accession should be destroyed
given way to rabbits
become common
of trees and contagious
failed past the black fence
lies a green expanse
on a putative building site
in this country is a village its green topiary gardens
its barcode façades a habitat, a feeling
the world is one magnificent
shop everything is here
under a section 106 agreement
manacle slither is always that or die,
your face now fallen through
a future hybridisation
of 0s numbed encircled
as real live bombs with chain effects
its laissez-faire bonfire créationnisme
putsch talking therapies
/trims - Eggshell
General Fixings /
To be agreed
psychodynamic family manias
bloodless comrades
& sight silenced forever
a harmless life
was that jeremiads service areas in my eyes
a coat of shiny panels hail
you are now part of the post-boom years
of Teletubbyland, flooded
on a hill at a farm in Wimpstone, Warwickshire
business parks the future, no
‘we need to start making things again’
flooding synthetic turfs
& artificial hillocks with blood
a coin tower made up of six billion
penny pieces starred out in a tiara
on the head of this fabulous city,
all forms & images
in the world can be revoked
remembering your childhood
Sir James Ritblat,, your mothers disappearance
near a Hertfordshire airfield
agitatrixs hurdling a 7 per cent annual cut
to the laxey billfroth with long memories
and then there were none but fathers
decimals lie in bed late at night watching old comedies
such as Only Fools and Horses,
Porridge and Carry On films.
“That’s my humour,” Senior Ritblat blurts.
“I’m much happier going to sleep with a smile on my face.”
“It isn’t the same.
Back then we had Tiny…”
The adviser's silky smooth voice tailed off
waves two fingers at British Land, plc holy-stricken
corporate governance Buildings are bricks and mortar,
there to be bought and sold fleet-footed
the drooping floors its sinking chorus of
drinking champagne from silver goblets, heads
scenting blood, descaling promised
homes to nothing again
like under heaven dominated by
clubbable tycoons
on balance in the sorry ground
wasted tokenism
our wrecker is very, very busy,
dinner speeches
parterres aflame so much we have to seek
to put the community at the heart of the process
and are continuing to engage proactively
in consultation with the local community
swelling the coffers
since the original consent
on balance and the whole themepark trembling
to get living or be forbade
manic thieves blinds dewy
rents all is brightest culled darkly
Sir Michael Caines in ‘sink estates’
riven to the spot
itself a luminous body of
silicone & polyol resin
turned by currents of light
a neurotically
protected citadel
of the undead
‘it takes a man in tweed suit
5 and half seconds to fall from the
top of Big Ben to the ground
in the area I once called home
frequented by meths-drinking weirdos’
& so clearly the tariff of
good faith will be deferred
to the imaginary children of the future,
sometime later all rolled in primrose
under broiling suns Zone Oneland rainsoaked
pieces of amenities fall out
one panel type a structural spandrel
under the windows
laid horizontal a decorative facing
no local governments, no aesthetics no democracy
twelve roads at once
dead time pinched and minuscule
‘It’s a nice place’ and lifeless, offering
budgets streaming through industrial units
a hill with car park lights the aluminum balconies
stapled fields of dreams
the feeling on cantilevered platforms
to view something like a glass atria
inside Big Yellow Self-Storage
big sheds plastic-clad buildings
shaped like a Rubik’s Cube
a steel column with twinkling lights
that can be controlled by text message
skylines that stay the same dozens of pipes neon-lit
and topped by flares
the medium of inculcation
the feeling of slues of agitatrix
Ritblat’s daughter spawn
everything is changing 18 years
my eyes began to startle
happy in pose
light bulbs draped through the grounds
of the party
live camels, monkeys, Vintner commodes FTSE100
a tent with a gold sign saying ‘Ritblat Family Circus’
a balloon-filled & red carpeted
butlers to cater for every whim to beating frogs to death
in the midsummer evenings remembering the feeling
that on that river the view was undying
anointed under the elder tree
a tendered Michael McIntyre on hand to provide jokes, like:
That most elusive of creatures.
A right-of-centre millennial breaks over
a Non-virtue signaller.
Zero snowflake credentials.
English Identitarian.
a bouquet of variegated tulips
grasped by an enormous hand jutting from a pedestal speaks
by radio to the likewise disembodied voice of Sir Michael Caine
sub-Pendereckian clicks and drones
“the people” aren’t even real;
they’re weaponized figments
in forgotten places spelling out vapour trails
spectre there are perks in chains of lead
no alternative
under hannibal house
under tempest
under napping fabrics
for every whispered word a body lies
in a boules pitch in fruit cages in stables
in tennis courts and underground swimming pools
& was always in
ultimatums graph as it marrows to starry blue
with camshafts to shine a S.A.D. lamp on
I Cry When I Laugh it is that
or NIMBYs zonal planning hegemonies
drawn out under zoning
or regulatory arrangements
featureless trees are broken,
establishes Nue Ground
at the heart of what we do
a curtailed spectre bulks
a life, strategic planning
all opposing
broken pledges
down One the Elephant
with english brick, this bloodshift unnamed,
face-to-face on retail chains
and privatised plazas into manja line
coated with powdered glass
Best Residential High-rise Architecture
at the 2016 International Property Awards
I feel a certain pang inside my chest
see a hole as big
as tenpence m the glass.
Names emerge. And the pain grows specific ,
localised , somewhere around the heart,
or the stomach, or the lungs
kettering a sky lounge, 45th floor
with a bar and kitchen co-working space
accessible to residents only
Sir Michael Caine's voice:
‘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 light
clap went around the anvils of my tears,
The country I love is bleeding to death.’
….ambient trash
Look, look
I remember running through wheat
transient displacement of grain &
a stream would run alongside
everyone was paid in golden sovereigns
would sleep well at night
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
was still Boomps a Daisy, the stream was
temporarily drained and filled 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!’
Each to its own
everybody has tears in their eyes but does not mind them
probably does not even know they are there
crawling living. I had turned back and had seen
the freezing of my blood free
speech under liquid Sir Cop & Cross party
QC F.K.A Hungry a throng of orderlies
and the opposition dies in broken sleep
carving up the Ossulton Estate
function room breaks
the helix structure crick shaped,
to blunt of heraldic bleed, Blue boys swilling
a little white hankie
behind me, in the open, without cover,
& then arachinards
with images culled from silver
poisoned breathe a white man turns blue
against a soft rein of interns
a minimal pushback, squeezing
out falling patched inches chamfer
unreality through the doors,
keeping us open to all-
physical keys, numerical codes, complex passwords,
biometric identification
strayed too far from the party’s epicentre again
by strength of spirit
every struck throat O
\every 100 millilitres of blood
is ziggurat sepsis to crawling in acid blue light
re-imperative a cul de sac
