Stephen Christopher Yaxleys old panoply of grimoires
or are we now inside venerated sprigs
over chalk breaks like Dover Straits
& listen to quarter peal of Stedman Caters
ringing as though sounding the tocsin,
fingered through heart thrugs to fading
cold as daybreaks an English light
curls up my back to tap
on the hypercondensation
the window sneaks a think-tank
to translucent its bleeding line
through the breached yew tree,
a coup operation; you are listening to,
now speaks the Nationwide Festival of Light
to tiny little speckled abrasions
beyond feeling, rosacea skin gradients of eternal bliss
a berry for later, snaps Peers as the poverty lobby
is galvanised to crypt it, to bury falling through the
stairway at Bevin Court, the abolition of suffering
moral standards crossbenchers
your name is bleach covered in a thin bronze skin
the basement of the building
Lenin creaks out a whispered slue
in the central linking drum, my eyes now glue
weeping on the gallery floors you watch from
the rooftop canopies, its tapering & thinning
air what is to be done
with Hopton Wood Stone clipped now painted?
a naked winged angel bronze butterfly
goes missing, Y-shaped
torn belthers on crimson thread, Yaxleys in the area.
again lilies mercifully
I foul, out to the wildernesses
to crypt it, yes,
this act weakened me but,
in a way, I have been cared for
yes, I am diminished
but I am also emboldened: yes
it feels like passion
ears bent to fagends
it move me at night sometimes
to be near anti-pigeon spikes
pressing against the vulnerable white skin,
the skin of a living boy,
the skin without blood gradually,
a chest without air,
slackening, thin stomach thinning
caving in eventually to my antedate
pure; strong, I am, & determined so very much
as gradients of intelligent bliss orders curve over me
a magnitude richer like god on wort
Dave Pearce,
the Future's portal upward still,
and onward, is yours alone,
scaped so bend our Mayflower,
and steer boldly
through the desperate winter sea,
effective altruism phasing out suffering here tonight
under this bluelight
meld all bleating goodstrong people's blood,
that is good ¬ shitmud!
& I can see from fits of burning
rubber the ever glowing, never receding line
of fealty chokes K, thou art my life, to death, at night.
in Ebenezer Howards ancestral environs
replaced by a motivational system
of heritable gradients
of bliss states of sublime well-being
destined to become the feasibility of pains abolition
or retention into an issue of social policy
and ethical choice Yaxleys hidden,
a bin of lillies pickering
to tilth O father, the fairest hushes
of the wettest of lips & uttermost purpose
the World Health Organisation clangs
under the jib of a needle
your own hands amygdala hijacked
mid-hue The Transmitted Deprivation Research Programme
per chevron gules &O barry wavy
of ten azure, that some went mad
or in a fess, embattled the last masoned sable
coloured in chief, sunned in splendours gold
gone ‘social pathology’ under tower gules
two spigs of honesty leaved slipped
a volume knob for pain & poverty,
Yaxleys fall saltirewise
genebreaks of intergenerational Montgomeries
& continuities bend orchards round the wall,
of your buried head trusting pure O
that light is p-zombied. a painless bite, swells
the CNS bloodless in shades outside common rooms,
binding a mother's love, the profoundest peace,
a Jupiter brain as pure bliss of the utilitronium launches
the problem of suffering as tractable
& on pin-scales logarithmic pulse keeps running
the curve bend an optimal zone,
Mister, Yaxley, What is the delta?
anode bookmarks the flesh of pedos is glued
on Ebenezer Howards darned light
in Garden Cities a kinder sky! of socially engineered dust
bytes catalyst anomies its raided world elopes that or
to be mangled, burnt, in the rich meadow
docked friends, voluntary groups &
as a last resort of course by the State
a strike for your life! imp-
lore us; spectral Keith Josephs failing radiant
social pathologies banded for
waving & smiling & moving to fade
& calling all hearts to emulate
to escape,d on the misery of ambiguity
on the misery of 32 New “Mail Room” jobs in South London
on the misery of misery under a table in the morning,
I abolish pain
below the hedonic zero
treadmill all hearts to emulate its caustic preening,
the lumbar straits
increase the baseline
Sir Keith's scolded Schlaraffenland
underneath the light there is always
intervening on the ground under the pie-tree
fatlegged eating through a cloud of rice pudding;
on the other side of the fence the Organising Group
an empty apparition, bastedin votives spilling outwards
'familial processes' are responsible,
the gene code forfeited to rutter & madge
Generation Merit; undog your living twilight
& soften swells scratching at the lid
to ferret out every weak spot peel away each loose fleck
the future society is
log scales birched & falling levity
all things big & bright
under the toscin there is no pain.