09.09.25
Claridges house red
hyacinth someone else's city
suicided with fantasies of power
I copulate with the careering lie
payslips undo in the night
most things are naked & afraid
crawling inside a seller’s hand
everything passes before us
as beautiful then tragic then
x commodity A = y commodity B, or
anti-light hors d'oeuvre
a part of the infinity of the Poet
even people will come to be counted
out someone's willing mouth
singled down as property
but what I have taken
might in fact have been
revenge on bathroom floors,
in the sinks of tall houses
in who the Fucks who
& who does worse
a small bronze Venus flytrap
gently ironising without falling into irony
warm over cold canapéd little hates
go back into the count & hold
beneath the oppressive cloud
