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Nothing produced on him
a disc of omissions,
your mothers disappearance
Sir James Ritblat (reticulated),,
your mothers disappearance
near a Hertfordshire airfield
10 nautical miles John agitatrixs
hurdling a 7 per cent annual cut
10 nautical mothers to the laxey
billfroth long with memories
& then there were none but fathers
decimals lie in bed late at night watching old comedies
such as Only Fools & Horses, Porridge & Carry On films.
‘That’s my humour,’ Senior Ritblat titters out:
‘I’m much happier going to sleep with a smile on my face.
But… it isn’t the same.
Since we have lost Tiny in an airplane …
we shared the Cots in clubbing faith
& now she's gone, but all is not lost.’
Trailing two fingers at British Land,
PLC holy-stricken Corporate Governance
Sir John,
You are now part of the Post-Boom years
on a hill near a farm in Wimpstone, Warwickshire.
In Teletubbyland, the hillocks are flooded with blood
to make a coin tower made up of six billion penny pieces
starred out in a tiara on the head of this fabulous city.
buildings are bricks & mortar, to be bought & sold
& the drooping floors are a sinking chorus
of imperium hard-ons
under opaline light portfolio
canopies maw the strongbox
to a wrathless tongue,, a keynote
like nothing under heaven.
‘He’s just like Prince Charles,’ said an analyst.
Fondling cuff-links nervously
up the Cupronickel Ponte Giardino
& down with our enemies,
to Get Living
undermanic thieves
bind dewy bades
rents the brightest when culled darkly
naked & afraid
along the whole 127 Mile city turned inside-out
& salvage at least one cobbled hill
still twisting about a living good
humming on You,, notice an air turned by guises
a number of design objectives
to the stated aims the whole earth
of TMO & Client aspirations
parterres aflame or be forbade
& uncommit the Malicious Damage Act 1861,
in sinkhole estates to spot braid
under broiling suns ZoneOne Land rainsoaked
as a neurotically protected citadel
of the undead rolled in primrose,
amenities fall out a glass atria
inside a Big Yellow Self-Storage
big sheds big plastic-clad buildings,
a Rubik’s Cube steel column
narthex John, your daughters cursed
word-lists, a birthday,
light bulbs draped through the grounds of the party
FTSE100 live camels, monkeys, & Vintner commodes,
a tent with a gold sign beaming
1# ‘Ritblat Family Circus’
to cater for every whim
like beating frogs to death
in the midsummer evenings
remembering the feeling
on that river the view was undying,
under the elder tree rendered a Michael McIntyre
on hand to provide the jokes
the bitten toxins:
The most elusive of creatures
a right-of-centre millennial
breaking over the White Cliff of Dover,
a Non-virtue signaller. Zero snowflake credentials.
English Identitarian. No Surrender.
‘People aren’t even real’ giggles Ritblat,
& all the forms & images in the world can be revoked
remembering your childhood
your infant light, Sir John
an inkling of Law ambuscades
the Alpha Plus Group changelings
smug the dowerage in Lethe-swamps
& play British Virgin Islands with mudgiants
of prairie grasses & the weeping willows,
as a short furlong in length of a Blast Shadow
in three solid armrests
yours, Sir John
the manacle slithers
cold inside steel mullions
that become suddenly blinding
stranded into lugfails v-shaped,
a single curved petal, a Danny Boyle petal
made of copper shining to biff weaning
out eyes behind scattergraphs as
the hymn went away
the sun also rises
in every whispered word
a body lies in a boules pitch, in stables,
in a tennis court, in an underground swimming pool
& the flames spread radially
around its petals tight
& all were alight,
as the stems rose slowly from the gaping
floorboards peeling upright
a single massive flame
a sacred gasping light,
went around the anvils of my tears
& ask again the right people in the right place,
& call all hearts to emulate
a £20.00 reuptake
as it ceases; & fills us with
divisions, confusions, & tumults
& to hash for life at night
the groundsheet
pieces together the care password is StampCall* 112
& the futures floors clutched under
a roof garden, a café, a ‘breakout room’
closing to six billion penny pieces
a steel gavel,,
a sound as you appeared, Sir John
your families growing trespasses
rack over twitching
10 nautical miles agitatrixs
corporal penalties, you evade
in the plenary room under said stolen madrigals
brig like blockades
remembering again
a mothers disappearance,
through glen perishing eyelashes
a fading sapping thin over your bilking lapse
with HMRC culls slow auspices
& engrams abstracted the total funds
documented the Gamma Civic,
the floors have absolutely
no cracks at all,,
to survive twisting leopards bane
& devils helmet, & the queen of all poisons
on parricided come downs
burns a starry mark or padded path
& the Beechcraft Super King Air
latches seem a little flimsy,
when you see the ones on a Piper-
its adds a little excitement to the old flying
before Leavesden not Denham.
Isabel Ritblat, in millibars
warm cold occluded against the wind
the Cessnar doors 172, 'Group Captain'
a gentle slip to wallbang this scythe
above the parapet & cry St. Mortiz to foul Sir John,
'a noble man' for noblesse oblige
& regurgitate a fugue outside St Andrews hospital
for under death today
tomorrow the sun rises a chorus line
& the moon sets a private chime
to scathing a Ritblats bower,,
& making hematoma flowers
permanent, sweet, & long lasting
history minims limited companies
Leading the Long-terms on
European Real Estate: Leadership & Management,
you will not find a Ritblat Tower
as the dower hand regicides the quietest whirligig
inside nautical miles Isabel agitatrixs
10 nautical mothers twitching
penalties by the finger blocks,
yr. alms to the Adelphi Genetics Forum
clots to milk based eugenics
Sir John,
like arachnids from silver poisoned breath
you go in ATM’s come out
its greenish white
Central Management Office
heavy under mercury vapour
a sinkhole increase daily remember
itching powdered glass manja lined
down, a Ritblat snopake’d
a mothers disappearance,
remembering again
sky gardens, viewing platforms
the Public London Charter
for the users, owners & managers of public spaces
linked a mangle to light hoisted tackling root
,,the user crashes like a gateway built
into a program sealed its missing features,
cut out in the sky is office blood
in enfilade black steel laws.
it dissolves or mergea with Rheinzink hollowed
72 habitable floors that YouGov poll found
eight out of ten people agreed
to a depressed apex in the head
a pros & cons beds down your throats burrow,,
Sir John,
as stretches its sick building syndrome
the terms & conditions break pealing into jagged stripes
past the black fence lies a green expanse,
your life under security solutions loud as glass
over this furrowed glebe tonight
a Section 106 Agreement turns to dust.
