29.7 x 42.0 cm
Pencil & Pen on Paper, Frameless Clip Frame
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Friday, 8 May 2026
Thursday, 7 May 2026
On Pain (VI) (draft/unfinished) the Plateau, the Field, the Garden agenda
On Pain (VI)
Selten habt ihr mich verstanden,
Selten auch verstand ich euch,
Nur wenn wir im Kot uns fanden,
So verstanden wir uns gleich.
H. Heine
Quacks, sectarians, statisticians
poured into this fake city vanguard
of the infernal win, Language Businesses cf.
seize this, crush that, to victory!
become elegaic, wistful always broken
against the odds reckoning
what has been taken,
can be returned distorted then
jargon acquires its defining character
by the way it imputes its truth on other faces
the types of pain of beautiful things
to be destroyed is enough hope
the last firebreaks to starry rushes
chainfated parts of the body,
echoed the will of the Old Ones
for the children
what deposit slot rolled
my cobblestones glom faced,
outside Automatic Hydraulic
anti-terror bollards
non-sector chaperones
in the event of a loss of power
woe during roam the clotted avarice
afraid allowing the ingress of cool air,
with warm air flowing out
through two tall vents
forming wings
that mirror each other,
as the public & private bokes
now all set to chrome
its bleeding line through
breached canopies,
expire turn in a circle
dialectic is broke
in the noiseless expanse
of your opened face
on Paternoster Square
new satin finish logscales
peerless white limestone
of chlorine ducts or some flaming urn
& no drinking water,
a sabre of light
filigree lightness is anodyne
& as low as possible
over the tidal Thames
it’s river territories broken
Mutual boathouse nomads
countyparties peddling harrowbones
like needles all we need is enough hope steered
so quaint, like continuous cruising toepath hookups
cry upwards for me
Integral fuel tank the rubbing stakes
pupating the most fundamentally decent person
to ever to shake my hand
‘I use to knock on doors talk to strangers, now…’
Hate-Man & Ultrahate
with ignorance to this pain that clutches
exit poll fagends roll underlight schism
what laws balustrade is this?
Asset Management Limited
shining sleeves scraped
from every pore & costs nothing
laid upon its roof burning day
into your eyes rising
quaint the stone of the plaza,
in every living sign
a public-space guru locked in
Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton
debrief rooms screening Live Below The Line
& what will you do Alfie Deyes?
luminescent with cadres of flashbacks,
reliving the chronic downside of
the nostalgic austerity trend
on glutted tears, stalked.
A cloud & the pill taken daily
in the hinterland rubbed into
& over one another
& now that you’re gone
a dream covered nothing
teeth cleaned on tassel loafers
readily circling each crutch
you know you have to die for a rebirth?
on decoy vent fed air,
off seed cathedrals noon-marked
monocoques hollowed to dusk
the development sequence
scratched inside wet paper brain
Werkstatt the swilling ‘ideas engine’
Stanhope PLC a field of glass,
windswept Thomas Heatherwick
your mother’s bead expertise
Bob Hope’s groundhog day
crying on Coin street
from the river to the bridge
you cower into at night
‘social pathology’ cranks
under genebreaks the polity to seek
& delight a song to hover above
in a more exalted plane
reckoning what has been taken,
can be returned distorted
by seeing everything in terms of either
voluminous lottery cash or
a business bone in his body, Thomas
now this is Bang at Sports City
the Plateau, the Field, the Garden agenda
the pain inside my moral credo
is about your mouth the palliatives
a brightness coming from
its layer of dichroic film meritocracy
in a ribbon of beaded glass
enhances & lifts hearts in Milton Keynes
seeing futuristic housing
prototypes unstitched rentiers head tennis
& the trust deficit a Workplace Mediation Specialist
hangs a heavy chain over my heart
your team knows why
& takes out my eyes
explores a National Landlord Register
at the Construction Expo
Five Angel Heads Comprise
the biosphere & how to die in it?
new County Deals
devolved administrations sitting on the
laver of eclipsed arches
all human malevolence
is planned orange light
porphyry stone stand on the backs
it’s meaningless orange light
porphyry stone
& the loggia curls quiet out composite
social typology bonded
& elevated again,
cleaned spurriers to mercer yoke
& no passage for foot
in the shadow of the new Cathedral,
the paying metronauts:
‘I came here to swim in the highest pool in Europe
& I’ll be back again tomorrow’
Wednesday, 6 May 2026
On Pain (IV) (draft/unfinished)
On Pain (IV)
That is my lord, steereth with cruelness; And every oar a thought in readiness though that death were light in such a case. An endless wind doth tear the sail apace
Sir Thomas Wyatt
Like insects crawling like water
running on skin of numbness
& tingling strange sensations
the ‘energy plug’ has been pulled
with lots of noise & lights, chest pain
blurred vision burning mouth syndrome
it may help to explain why some people feel
low in mood, depressed, frustrated, anxious
worried about things
in the gaping scar affected hover above it
to drop down inside revolved to music
do you believe in an all seeing god,
a benevolent all seeing god? do you
could you imagine a world
without a god, would it be this world?
or is there another
opening up somewhere
after this one is done? do you believe
blackthorn dogrose field maple changes
get confused or altered in the rain
or an alarm reduced that won’t turn off
nerve messages get amplified
& made bigger & so you feel more pain
last of the hedgerows to separate me from
grassland finding path edges i would take you
to the totally indifferent pumpworks
near Biffa Waste Management gentleness
a pale blue you see this
like sharp brittle realisation
is going to be far easier to co-ordinate
in Paradise the frailest spirit made you wait
for the manna of karmic retribution
again i use this object on myself,
it was granted to me by the zero-sum game
in the triangle of symbols or outside it
through a sort of twisted allegory
the unlivable & the process
of making oneself lovable
recognisable in the face
a hand of snow in the fields of changes
how in my throat a cloud of derk
too sometimes pink sometimes rose
is formed through abjection
expels parts like this
a compulsive repudiation
by which the subject
incessantly sustains itself
i want to take your sickness
put it inside me the chemical hit
from which the music emerged
its wearied cords that settled on my
scrotal hernia ‘poetic’ bacteria,
like the stars hidden into word.