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Outside Langham Place
sans consentement
in Corsham stone the nuptials of
god & god the Stone
beneath volutes
Justice 4 Fathers Spidermans
half suspended with daughter’s guitar
‘In the Name of The Father’ by Bono,
the Trafalgar Groves, the Victory Footprint
Link sculpture with its panoramic viewfinder
in what kind of country is this,
class fatalised Bowellism the sick rose
winedrunk on broadloom Pushkin floor
threshed red my broken words
held up by a friend
there are Steinways to follow
seraphs on Brooke street,
it's the colour
between my thawed gurgles
that really matters
& London is the centre of wicker fence panels
its river territory is broken
the last firebreaks of a leaseholder
coastguard hanging under Blackfriars Bridge
to starry rushes chainfated
what deposit slot rolled
my cobblestones glom faced,
outside Automatic Hydraulic
anti-terror bollards
in the event of a loss of power
non-sector chaperones
allowing the ingress of cool air,
with warm air flowing out through two tall vents
which form wings that mirror each other,
public & private bokes all set to chrome
it’s underlight schisms humming
on the Laws balustrade.
In what kind of country is this?
Estate Asset Management Limited
shining sleeves scraped from every pore
will cost nothing
laid upon its roof
burning day into your eyes rising
the stone of the plaza
in every living sign street corner
public-space gurus lock the doors
in Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton rooms
Live Below The Line,
& what will you do Alfie Deyes
with the cadres of flashbacks,
reliving of
the downside
of nostalgic austerity
for 20 minutes
teeth cleaned tassel loafers
readily circling each crutch
you know you have to die for a rebirth?
Cauldron burning London's
a collared plinth of Blair's demotic
glades,, now this is Bang at Sportcity
searching Utopia through a pipeline
middle english bullclipped
I chide Culture & Values Enterprise
I ate your withered dinner tie
with Amarone & vetched Gillespies
the Plateau, the Field, the Garden agenda
filled & felled w/ MSM
will manage material deprivation
for the next life,, in a gala of dystopian domes
Logan's Run & fucked erotics
of cement block aides empty man-creditors
of my desire for the wrecking
in multi-use pause areas
cascading frozen stars!
with stones running from Lee Bridge
canting Angleterre bouillante.
