14.07.25
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The already-dead term
the cure is poised as disease
a dead blood skinned
off Yaxleys
this quivering song
is for you alone
the restless sea-waves
foam insurgent
upon White Rock England 101
inflicts no punishment
to any inhabitants of
paradices nickering tongue
so asleep is this song
called terrifying person
& are there any Yaxleys
in the room tonight?
we get it on almost every night
when that moon is big && bright
it's some supernatural delight
dancing in the moonlight
underneath the righteous brought near
right abundant cups ever-filed
from a spring of never-stale water
ever-fresh milk a purified you
faces hands elbows
limited/short glances
I could never forget
narrowing re-gifted youth &
the condom of purple flour
at the British Prime Ministers foot
these hadiths have they ever stood?
no hidden pearls no beautiful whiteness
no angels shall enter upon them
no in the mornings
no on this day
no busy rejoicing
no scooped up last claim
to no-one ever again.
