O your Colonel,, as a father
indemnified the door from Salisbury plains
to stamping an interspace of whispers
stricken voiceless Inside Praepostor Business Class,,
a brig that sensation masts
another Earldom, ancestries past
a carousel hologram of a boat race appears
all foppish fair haired boys
in oak quad sculls, singing:
‘O What is a Stephen Christopher Yaxley?’
Dreadnought, Britannia, Thetis, St George Prince of Wales
& Ten Logie Leggatts leading 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 for me?
to a single reply;
daemons
Blue Boys swilling on the beach
brisk’d my cheek the heraldic bleed,
undernight-air claps &
Cooee! Cooee!
a boat as good as brains! & so und so weiter
that one man was much like another
on this vast floating army cum laude,
there are perks in chains of lead
you can feel it & chasten the colour,
in England enterprise our armada
its ladened wraith a dodo skeleton
in the morning you lay down
in a Recruitment crawl space
of its office carpet broadloomed,,
a June morning together.
It is dark now along the rim & always now dark forever more.
& We never kissed…..
Bricklayers. Investors. Antecedents. Warfares.
hanging from a steel pergola,
that yawning feeling comes over
the working-catharsis hiccups
& collapses glitches of sweat or blood to nothing.
Not even a coat of arms.
& What will you do if agency workers cross the picket line?
Start again.
& so what lies outside the White cliffs?
a fallen head glued to a mansard roof
eating Chartwells Free School Meals
milligram by milligram
Good over Evil, Life over Death
depopulated centres enterprise children,
under no boss in Jack of Plate
toxing bed stiffened hard-ons
to chartered hails & 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
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
chrome chainlinked
the multitude on the beach sings
take back this lonely song,, & beseech
the unnameable bodies of hectares
old panoply of grimoires
now in venerated sprigs
over chalk breaks like Dover Straits
& listen to quarter peal
of Stedman Caters ringing
as though sounding the tocsin
on hearthrugs fading
an English light curls up my back
to tap on the hypercondensation,,
the window sneaks a think-tank
a translucent yew tree,
a coup operation;
the Nationwide Festival of Light 1971
a berry for later, snaps Peers
as the poverty lobby is galvanised underneath
gradients of eternal bliss to crypt it,
& bury falling through the stairway
at Bevins Court,
a Vladamir creaks out
it's whispered slue
your name is bleach,
moral standards the abolition of suffering
the abolition 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 move at night near anti-pigeon spikes
inside pressing up against vulnerable white skin,
the skin of a living boy, the skin without blood gradually,
a chest without air, a slackening thin stomach thinning
Yaxleys in the area
& return to us that aching feeling,
under this bluelight to meld all bleating
strong people's blood, that is good & not shitmud!
& I can see from fits of burning rubber
ever glowing, never receding
a line of fealty choke,, s sublime well-being
destined to be
a Yaxley hidden
pickering to tilth
O your Colonel,, as a father,
& the fairest hushes of the wettest lips
& uppermost purpose clangs like the jip of a needle
under the State,
a strike for your life!
a painless bite, a mother's love,
the profoundest peace,
& logarithmic pulses imp-
lore us; spectral Keith Josephs radiantly falling
abolish this pain below hedonic zero
& make all hearts to emulate
caustic preening the lumbar straits
the baseline Sir Keith's
scolded Schlaraffenland
eating through a cloud of rice pudding;
on the other side of the fence an empty apparition,
basted in votives
the gene code is Generation Merit,
undog your living twilight.
