Hard-core prigs my love amulet
on a righteous rsvp meal ticket
all the way to burgundy fiends
cuspids in rosette bower to bower,
your detached name signets
bright saltirewise
the other one, the wrong people
elf, dream demon hair grows
sackbodies money & rain
belong together in Moorgate
remember corporate umbrellas
sat under a weld stoop the shorecrud
detached from my soul of company
your name air-kissing
the cerulean British Transport Police Mosaics
I guess its yours now just
sadness sticks on my wrists
feelings in sleep NCP London clay
what no meat on Fridays,
just breadcrumb trails
glass pitches too low to climb for rain
lips that hide gloms
of golden saxifrage
The Sixth Carbon Budget
& the purlieus of Argyle Square
gauchistes hum
what solidarity is left to stay
now peerless vents feed you air
