Sunday 17 March 2024

The Urban Task Force (DRAFT)


One leg in annuities, solstices, sanctuaries, woes 

breakthrough my heart is dumb brassic

in wiping off at the diadem floodlights 

around dead fens being dead. 

The underclass discussed 

on mumsnet 

Do we have one? Why?

Who or what is responsible?

When did it all go wrong

a more vengeful revanchism remainder 

of emptied pockets, 

tough on, spitting yob burnished 

tongue into a sharp relief  

a 10-point code of conduct 

the dictates by squeegee 

winos ‘mole people’ footloose 

brig adders wriggle out

in virid pilule seedbed

morsicatio buccarum sans reveries 

& you work in the midnight purpling hue 

that tips the stars to be lug imminent

a dream covered nothing foaming 

its boiling common

gentler sounding fingerdust

& the Russell Group firebrands 

in spirited Rosewood Calf Leathers

kick up the earth, momentums return 

this job pissed town is yours 

in a sports bag drawn from gas 

that leaks out peeling skins 

cancel the remains

in a Quango fortified, 


ground-floor blast walls

scratching the edge forevermore &  

 The post-Good

the Era Two is more optimistic, 

its spec boasting holes a ‘Transversal Space’, 

made to see out of boathouse nomads 

under marine primer ditch the keycard,, 

ditch key fob,, ditch the key chain,,

pitted with illuminated water features 

hear liquid patter of a fountain’s droplets 

over the hum of a not-too-distant 

business district winding down

plastic art planted in concrete 

a twelve-foot anchor 

in treacle-like gloss paint; 

old parasite gates

micro segregation blood fielding 

to Marina developments 

the sugar pill, —the clerical sales, 

construction workforce, mixed-use

drivers vandal-proof lights O

wrenched quiet to my scrying

door plate, post paralysis hands

the ringworm got me to 

curse my outlook, rusted into 

the Urban White paper Urban Renaissance

BioMed Centre identikit corporate detailing 

the quoin metal black bile & actual slogans 

around our heads into a buzzword 

of tearing. ON. nothing Londinium 

shilled in nights red wrapped tunic sky

12 stars over my eye 

a technical ripstop Made in Italy Cocoon shaped &

landscrapes pulls away dead chainlink

‘I want to be the best. 

I want to do my own thing. 

I want to excel. 

I want to go to the gym. 

I want to study business law. 

I want to see West End shows. 

I want business sponsorship.’  

Green grow’th the holly

So doth the ivy