Stephen Christopher Yaxleys
old panoply of grimoires
or now in venerated sprigs
over chalk breaks like Dover Straits
& listen to the quarter peal of Stedman Caters,
ringing as though sounding the tocsin
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; the Nationwide Festival of Light
to 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 bronzed butterfly gone 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,
It feels like passion.
Bent ears to fagends
it moves at night sometimes 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 into an antedate
pure; strong, gradients of intelligent bliss orders
curve over a magnitude richer like god on wort,
the Future's portal upward still, longtermism
& onwards, is yours alone scaped
so bend our Mayflower & 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 my life at night.
In Ebenezer Howards ancestral environs
replaced by a motivational system of heritable gradients
a bliss state of sublime well-being
destined to become the feasibility of pains abolition
& the ethical choice Yaxleys hidden pickering to tilth
O father, the fairest hushes of the wettest 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
sable clop sunned in splendours gold
its ‘social pathology’ under genebreaks
biblica last masoned beneath a baronetcy
in social classes 4 & 5, sub-borstal drifters
of intergenerational Montgomeries glinting
the social market economy a painless bite,
a mother's love, the profoundest peace,
a Jupiter brain managed rundown
the utilitronium launches on pin-scales
& logarithmic pulses a single namesake:
the State, a strike for your life! imp-
lore us; spectral Keith Josephs failing radiant
abolish pain below the hedonic zero
& make all hearts to emulate its caustic preening,
the lumbar straits the baseline
Sir Keith's scolded Schlaraffenland
underneath the light there is always
intervening on the ground the pie-tree
fatlegged eating through a cloud of rice pudding;
on the other side of the fence the Organising Group
an empty apparition, basted in votives spilling outwards
'familial processes' are responsible,
the gene code 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.
