Wednesday 22 March 2023

There is No pain (draft/unfinished)


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 &not 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.