Moritz Erhardt,
itch to anticonvulse the Sun’s Sun,
& suffer the opposite
out a block of flats near Cambridge Heath,
suffer the opposite,
in the midst of 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 dwarfing light.
Start again.
Sprawled across the shower floor,
the water still running.
Hearts of Oak decomposing
are members of the Orthodox Conservatives,
the Bow Group,
Turning Point UK,
for nothing but leaks
out in the middle
a Gekko Grundgesetz
to climb without oxygen to walk without eyes
behind black oval you read
‘The Economic Possibilities for Our Grandchildren’
by John Maynard Keynes
from a stapled balcony
overlooking a chilled wind
blowing off the Elbe,
a Quisling at the Faust-Gymnasium
to half empty bodies, half dead &
against the merry go round coloured with cuts,
that was your drowned trend,
a paling sweet face begin an itch,
corrected speech, corrected Yaxleys
& did not die.
For freedoms naivety & vulnerability
& to still not die
& paedo dearest
correct kept patriot cuts
to poor feeling fathers
Weisse Gestatten: Elite
The morning after the Korova Bar meeting,
a complementary perspective collapses
in a pailing of watered 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 you at the bottom
inexplicably are meal provisions fitness amenities
& the alphahoods crimp best
when the brightest
karoshi is in a snare.
