Saturday 29 April 2023

O your Colonel,, as a father (draft/unfinished)


O your Colonel,, as a father indemnified the door, 

on Salisbury plains stamping to an interspace 

of whispers that you are voiceless, again. 

Inside Praepostor Business Class 

a brig that sensation masts 

another's Earldom, ancestries: 

'I do not want to say any more 

thank you very much'

Believe again, or sweat, or blood: nothing inside 

the amp of shredded use values. 

All the forms & images 

in the world can be revoked

remembering your childhood  

A carousel hologram of a boat race appears

foppish fair haired boys in oak quad sculls, singing: 

‘What is a Stephen Christopher Yaxley?’

Logie Leggatt leads the line chalks over thinly 

whose clear body was so pure, & mine

after a moment looking out at the roaring sea, 

you ask what lies outside the White cliffs?  

to a single reply; 


that night-air claps & brisk’d my under cheek 

the heraldic bleed, Blue Boys swilling on the beach

Cooee! cooee!      A boat as good as brains! 

                                 that one man was much like another on this vast floating army cum laude.

There are perks in chains of lead. 

Enterprise of England, our armada 

in a ladened wraith, a dodo skeleton in the morning you lay down

in the Recruitment Welfare Room, 

crawl space of its office carpet broadloomed,, a June morning together. It is dark now along the rim 

& always now dark 

Bricklayers. Investors. Antecedents. Warfares.

O hanging from a steel pergola, a yawning feeling 

the working-catharsis it hiccups 

& collapses, glitches of sweat, or blood: to nothing. 

Coat of arms, 

What will you do if agency workers cross the picket line?  

Start again. 

What lies outside the White cliffs? 

a fallen head, a white corral of freezing networks  

a six-rink grass bowling green

glued to a mansard roof

under no boss in Jack of Plate toxing bed,

I, stiffen in chartered hails interned 

Chartwells Free School Meals 

milligram by milligram 

Good over Evil, 

Life over Death 

depopulated centres enterprise children,  

& God is here on little screens 

above the concourse Sky News Broadcasts 

a perpetual loop of Dark Justice & you 

 bleed in a line or switch in disguise 

& what army? in the morning emulsifying 

under sunglass, a beating heart to a raging quiver?  

Good over Evil, 

Life over Death

starbursts reflect non-permanent futures 

a crown of tapered pilastersits crony parvenu crawls out of each 

in melamine Yellow plaintive 5 year chembinge

the city wall is hell, as if in a mould;  

where the lid or stopper turns grey-silver 

like chainlinked chrome 

five stages of grief 

the multitude on the beach 

grows to taking back by the lonely song,, 

the unnameable bodies

hectares splinters memories of home 

a starless sky 

of my 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 on heart thrugs to fading 

an English light curls up my back 

to tap on the hypercondensation,,

the window sneaks a think-tank 

                                   translucent yew tree,

a coup operation; the Nationwide Festival of Light 1971

a berry for later, snaps Peers 

as the poverty lobby is galvanised

gradients of eternal bliss to crypt it, 

to bury falling through the stairway at Bevin Court, 

at the basement of the building

a Vladamir creaks out, a whispered slue 

your name is bleach, moral standards the abolition of suffering 

in the central linking drum, my eyes now glue 

weeping on the gallery floors,, you watch from the rooftop canopy, 

a tapering & thinning air, 

what is to be done with Hopton Wood Stone, 

clipped now painted?

move at night near anti-pigeon spikes 

pressing up against the vulnerable white skin, 

the skin of a living boy, the skin without blood gradually, 

a chest without air, a slackening thin stomach thinning 

 to an antedate gradients of intelligent 

bliss orders gone missing, 

Yaxleys in the area. 

Lilies mercifully I foul, out to the wilderness pickering 

on crimson thread 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, 

feels like a passion coming on its magnitude richer 

like god on wort & is yours alone

so bend our Mayflower & steer boldly 

through the desperate winter sea, return to us 

that aching feeling, unresolved to be itself alone 

a crushing, altruism phasing out suffering here tonight 

under this bluelight meld all bleating strong people's blood, 

that is good &not shitmud! & I can see from fits of burning 

rubber ever glowing, never receding line of fealty choke,, s 

of sublime well-being destined to be 

Yaxleys hidden pickering to tilth.

O your Colonel,, as a father, 

the fairest hushes of the wettest lips 

& uttermost purpose the clangs under the jib of a needle 

your own hands turn blue mid-hue 

The Transmitted Deprivation Research Programme of intergenerational Montgomeries glinting 

the social market economy rip the working class

a painless bite, a mother's love, the profoundest peace,

a Jupiter brain managed rundown launches on pin-scales 

& logarithmic pulses a single namesake, the State, 

a strike for your life! imp-

lore us; spectral Keith Josephs failing radiantly 

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 an empty apparition, 

basted in votives 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 & falling levity all things big & bright.

Moritz Erhardt, begins with an itch 

anticonvulse &the Sun’s Sun, 

suffer the opposite 

out a block of flats near Cambridge Heath, 

suffer the opposite, in the midst of the rising

from a streetcar, four hours of work, meal, sleep

quadrilateral, a square of clemency the Gray code.

 A psychoanalyst & a life coach walk into a room. 

an intern washes, puts on a fresh shirt & re-emerges 

blinking in the dawning light. Start again

to expect pain sprawled across the shower floor,

 the water still running.  Hearts of Oak. 

decomposing are members of the Orthodox Conservatives, 

the Bow Group or Turning Point Uk,

is waiting for nothing but leaks out in the middle 

of the meeting table; 

Gekko Grundgesetz

to climb without oxygen to climb without eyes unblinking

 behind black oval 

‘Economic Possibilities for Our Grandchildren’ read from a stapled balcony overlooking a chill wind blowing off the Elbe

karoshi Quisling deals at the Faust-Gymnasium 

half empty bodies, seen in the movies’ seen in & through 

that I should be yours, & obediently  

against the merry go round

coloured with cuts, that I was 

your drowned trend, a paling sweet face 

begins with an itch, correct speech 

correct Yaxleys & not die. 

Naivety & vulnerability & not die. & paedo dearest 

correct kept patriot cut to poor feeling pickering over white fathers

where the light is always left on

Gestatten: Elite

The morning after the Korova Bar meeting,

a complementary perspective collapses

monotherapy hierarchies premium fridays dark Sites, 

a gentle wind moves uninjuring your arms & legs 

a sweet tingling feeling 

turns your skin red under ‘Resilience Week’ 

confines at the bottom inexplicably meal provision fitness amenities 

alphahoods crimp the best & brightest karoshi in a snare.