21 To an M.O.R. Country Rock Medley – & Who Wouldn’t Agree?


Jesus! It’s a fucking cross – neon against the night: “A last entoptic patterning” alright. Nothing is hidden, nothing is meant. “People you need they all seem . . .” Vaguely distorted.

So this is where dawn in Broadstairs leads to. So this is why Sarah never came. So this is David Cameron’s religion. So this is the pattern made by the bones of the children he barbecued. So this suddenly appears out of nothing.

Never, in a sense, forget this – our need, you must admit, is for a believable sign, whatever of. The best ones shine in the sky: the Labarum, the Sun in Splendour. I’d worship Richard III any time – didn’t he kill a lot of aristocrats? I’d worship sundogs over Harlow. This world is changed by them.

What do we gain? Whatever we want. It’s coming to us, don’t you see the blueshift? The constellation wants to crash & involve. Our eyes will burn out unless we open them.

The summer sun.” Disordered? We know what it means & promises, like a long guitar break in the background. Time to dance out into the summer storms – there is a hill to climb, a home to return to. Always a good time to rebuild – now, when the lights tell us.

15. Towards a Neuroatypical Lyricism – To grow through the Gardens, look, of natural to act

Least need will time the disgust
prune now to vast status – shall
the sad ropes make, gendered
t/ Good shrubbery

cake shall pleasure to to catch – whatever
Ancient thorns channelled those little things
how Those say does syrupy Then
w/ only children make

then the individuals require out some food stories
skulking prejudices in the Victoria – start!
irrelevant Ones are nourished in them
the Sarah to Dig

ones let trust excesses, ones let trust Ditches through
energies & cakes out no Absolute frolic withies
we process them giggling of yr care: live
for obedience & mean

14. To Dig out Those Ditches, Then, at Least to Start

Good food does require some care
obedience then to natural process – let
the little ones grow we say, nourished
w/ syrupy pleasure

Sarah will live out of time – only
sad prejudices gendered the Ancient Ones
whatever we mean is irrelevant now
t/ how things are

Yes, the children frolic in the Victoria Gardens
giggling excesses through the shrubbery – look!
vast energies are channelled through them
no need to prune

We shall make cakes, we shall make ropes of
thorns & withies for those high worth individuals
we catch then skulking on the Esplanade: trust
yr disgust & act

13. With Maggot Exposed1

With Maggot Exposed

& how is ridging done? And why does it obtrude over simple joy? How comes all this paraphernalia, corrosive & subjective in its choices, has suddenly fallen out of my potting shed? Where has Sarah gone to now? – and was she really one of the Great Masters? Why are they almost always male and dead? How many types of carrot are there, too? What causes the pale patches? And the mess made of their juicy roots?

Are there bad ways to keep birds off the peas? Does distorting our heads assist or hinder in this? What happened to a rosy dawn on the Isle of Thanet? Is it possible these children are there? frolicking on the cliffs at Broadstairs? Should they therefore be pruned hard or moderate?

Will making an onion rope help? Why can’t we make another cake instead? How does all this relate to the continuing & ever-increasing seizure of power over us by our present high-status elite? Will they leave any rich & well-trenched burials for future archaeologists? Aren’t they more likely just to tip us all into extinction? And which are they at root? – the common scab, or wart disease? Isn’t this all clearly just the wrong way to place rock stones? Shouldn’t we politely make our thanks, and start digging out the ditches now?




 1 what sort of comment is this?

12. A Recipe for Nothing Less

for Sarah, starting here . . .

Why do a recipe then?
suddenly I can’t
– stand it
am I paid to? do I
want to?
– put it all
down again in a long list
trapped in disgust at that food

Everything stops: there’s
a screaming, then laughter
we can’t need this
I don’t know
what Sarah wants

I can’t say it
I can’t write it
dynamic? my
word I think that is
a delusion now

All chick & piss, yes
like the disordered children
absolute sharp features
all her smutty fragments

I’d like to need the following:
a bus
some dada
some bears
– plenty please!
(oh, mark 7 for choice
& passion
– lots of that
for pudding

Sarah never asked for anything
or if she did, what sort
of comment will that be?
then it’s all about speech
which is more about growing things
than cooking them or alchemically poeticising
much more fun
& real1

All of it is noise
just switch attention off the mess
into the medium itself to
splash about a little bit

Just typical of this this young world
– for all that recursive repetition
that what was given before
that, yes, we’re all into around
unusable & valueless
– thank you very much

[OK – that’s all. She never turned up, did you, Sarah? No ideas but everything & everything idealess – every idea less a thing than just talk. Delicious tabletalk. You don’t see this at all? Man kennt ein bisschen, man ißt ein bisschen, man geht kaka ein bisschen, man macht etwas ein Gedicht. Dieser Gedicht.]



 1 what sort of comment is this?