Wednesday 11 January 2023

The seven nation army generation passes away another generation cometh but this earth abideth forever (draft)


The seven nation army generation passes away 

another generation cometh 

but this earth abideth forever 



Sunday dinner is over, the

papers, gentlemen in duffle coats stand in a row, 

with golden Parker pens and nosy accents,  

appearing over the railing

of the stairs, for a second, yelling.  

Yelling other things, to the children, who have

started crying.

--'wriggle  like  .....a....a,a,a,a  snake'

--'wriggle like a fucking .....WORMmm'

dulce et decorum est

----Shhhhtt...Stay down.

-Duck your heads!  

To the children.

The crying dies down. 

One can hear the TV again.

A  commercial  for the Army: good pay, quick

promotion,  see  the  world. Emphatic.

Per­suasive melodical. Almost triumphant.


They have made

their way up the road. God save us.

every so often they peep at us through windows.

A  pole

is  firmly  planted against the door handle.  

Knock Knock. The shadow doesn't  move.  

Everybody stares at it

through  the  dimming glass.   

Like  at  a televis­ion-screen gone stuck    

the  pain  grows spec­ific, localised, somewhere  around the  heart,

or the stomach, or the lungs.

a perpetual loop of Dark Justice snaps.

The Corbynosphere encroaching 

my feet and  head drawn in, to  shrink,  to disappear.

duffle coats, get everywhere close to skin 

and burns that filthy breath, 

every  day,  I’ll likely  grow  immune,

& Beyond life 

the twitching blame 

of white chests, fragile,

momentums here again

in candid shirts, impeccable  suits

like daisy chains come here to boot

my lifehole in

neated ties, shiny cheeks, well rounded


Perhaps they don't want to kill us now,

just a little scare.  

Minutes of

silence the faint light that flickers from

flag on the pole 

my flag, Almost triumphant.


Fading into grey,

whiteshirts,  whitefaces the momentum in 

a trembling mass of grey gelatine, melting away 

towards the footpath  and

then frenziedly freezing up again, solidifying

into the corner high walls 

the blocks of flats, all those grey, blind windows,

pour grey onto the courtyard, engulfing insects

drenching the air and the soil with grey  

Sunless skyless air

Or maybe 

the eyes see grey, because

the blood, feelings, thoughts, are all getting


Some  days  later I shall have a grey

dream:  grey, huge, dust-grey curtain 

desc­ending  from  nowhere into nowhere, 

and  I filter through, into nowhere, wide  nowhere,

and  then  grey  curtains  again,  and  grey  no-

wheres, endlessly 

Death?  And eventually,

in  the  middle  of  nowhere, 

between  four  endl­ess  grey  curtains, 

on  a  grey,  soft,  delicate

bed  of  grey,  a  white  pearl,  shining and  throw­




A dash, or eternity?

The vulnerable,  white  skin,  skin  of  a  living boy,

skin  without  blood  gradually,  chest without  air,

slack,  thin  stomach,  caving in

the  mad,  frothing Corbynosphere 


Corbynite priest kneels. He raises his right hand.

He  drops  it.  His mouth is strained like  in  a

forced smile.  He weeps.  

perfect opportunity  for  whoever exists in a

condition  where the values of life and death,

of love and destruction, have been turned upside

down. A great occasion for the mechanical


paws and mothers fangs

drawn in, 


strong people's  blood,  ready to  face

the world in the time-proven 

cloak of justice

law, order, in the tissue of a lie, 

in the frock of hypocrisy, 

drawn over the flesh of pedos

feeds poisonous insects

Hands in their

pockets. Hands clutched round chests

eyes  away from it all, up the hill

silence the faint light that flickers from

my flag

beside the minutes  of

silence, putting to shame all "minutes  of

silence" anywhere, at any time, under

any flag.

Perhaps they don't want to kill us now,

just a little scare

I see a man, or is it an insect


With his little deadly pipe pointed at us,

looking straight  at  me  

Squeeze Susan to me  

Suddenly the thought of her face still,

motionless, squeezes my

stomach in a hard, painful grip.

God, no.

Please, if you must, shoot at me.   

Please, you bastards,


Do not take my Susan.

All of a sudden,  

sound again. Loud, power­ful, 

maddening  sound.  The  huddle  of  before

is all on its feet. Everybody stares at it

through  the  dimming  glass.  

Emphatic.  Per­suasive melodical.  Almost triumphant.


who knows what happens next

Feet and  head  drawn in, to shrink, disappear.

The Corbynosphere encroaching 

duffle coats,  get  everywhere close to skin 

Susan, in front with me,

our  immunity, our children, sick bestiality fantasies

in single line, one by one,

slowly, almost unbelievingly

the guardian angel light of PC Harper

shines on by

everybody has tears in their eyes,

but doesn't

mind them.

Encroaching the

buzzing noise rises again.  

Gets renewed shouts, curses

From  behind the corner, straight into the small,

vicious hole, wriggle like a snake

from  he corner  spill

ing over him, urging him on, with all the love

for life. 

And he crawls on, wriggles on.

The TV again.

A commercial for the  Army: good  pay,  quick

promotion,  see  the  world.  

Emphatic. Per­suasive melodical. Almost triumphant.