Thursday 27 April 2023

O your Colonel,, as a father (draft/unfinished 2)


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, said another. 

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  

on a June morning 

hunched 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

fair ideals bulk again 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 pilasters

its  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 around chrome 

in five stages of grief the multitude on the beach grows 

& to taking back

a starless sky the new dispensation sinks,

in the mouths of transmitted deprivation of my life 

‘What is a Stephen Christopher Yaxley?’

& you again,, deranged  summoned the unnameable bodies

hectares splinters memories of home 

by the lonely song,, 

take my sucking lips

 sunned in splendours gold 

its ‘social pathology’ under genebreak 

to bore no title in the ancestral home,  

the freezing 

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 

through heart thrugs to fading 

an English light curls up my back 

to tap on the hypercondensation

the window sneaks a think-tank 

to translucent yew tree,

a coup operation; the Nationwide Festival of Light 1971

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 your name is bleach,

at the basement of the building

we lay as Vladamir creaks out 

a whispered slue 

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?

to fagends & 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. 

Again lilies mercifully I foul, out to the wilderness 

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, 

It feels like a passion coming on

its magnitude, richer like god on wort

like the Future's portal upward still, 

& onwards, 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, Dover traffic status update. 

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 ever glowing, never receding 

line of fealty choke,, s 

a bliss state of sublime well-being 

destined to 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 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 & falling levity 

all things big & bright 

interpellating in the dicy borderline, an open flower,

rebukes the most intimate nerve

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, 

 sapling shot up & stuck firm to the ground; 

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

in a pail of watering lilies, nothing else happens 

monotherapy hierarchies premium fridays dark Sites, 

a gentle wind moves uninjuring your arms & legs 

a sweet tingling feeling your skin turns red

or pale pink under ‘Resilience Week’ confines at the bottom 

inexplicably meal provision fitness amenities 

alphahoods crimp the best & brightest,

poisonous herbs stryges dig up 100 cubic metres of earth

had tunnels & caverns 

alkaline grassland Vera Lynn the karoshi in a snare.