Monday 9 January 2023



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: 


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


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