understand capitalist architecture
as the infinite made entirely
measureable, each packed number
a pit of in-numerable mysteries
marketed as just the tool you need
to make your skin pop with
the burden of being a blazing core
of happiness, dizzy with the
spendour of actively being
a symbol of government mathematics
melted down to the base signal rate
& packed into poisoned land
till vocabulary re-enters the
stratosphere as simple thumbnail
equation: this building equals ‘you’,
any other calculation results in
immediate instersection of
your back-up image with re-hab
static & stars in all our eyes -
the burst cells accumulate as
dog-puke at clandestine borders
where negative alphabets conspire
with your spit is lovely and
rings through every occulted corridor,
the line-manager’s deranged eyeglass.

Modern poetry brought us here
& dropped us off, without a
keyhole or even a view; the
windows are sealed & the sun
is kept strictly bound inside
anti-vascular jelly, that is
to say, hard cash. Some poets,
oiled & flavoured, are left
out in the heat till entirely
dessicated, their works taken
off by the US military for
research purposes, plugged
into the social mainframe as
overheard conversation, or
‘legality’ as ‘torture’, kept
entirely clean & seperable
in the mind of an award-
winning poet, gods own
property, used as a flag or
romantic veil: “I am making
a world that has no place for
orange, I am awoken by buzzers
all day and all night and what
they say is we want all the
money’s half-life flutters in-
side all the language as melt-
core of what some prick in
America tells us it says”. Mean-
while, people are being starved.
They are sealed and the poets
haven’t seen them, how could they
as competition ups the ante &
everyone without a full plate
is silently taken out & shot:
the police method of knowledge
is the newer, cleaner avant-garde.


(((NB - the photograph at the top of this post shows the king and queen of Official Verse Culture being entertained by the public murder of Saddam Hussein)))

Tracts (((7 - 8)))

personality multiplies
in social equations
favourite letter
clusters
pressed into
meaning
pseudo-hip indifference
to each voice
discretion
alphabet
radically abridged
& smuggled statements
burst in
voice cavity’s
seperable images
blend forcefully
truncated coil
sweep
where ‘passion’ is
equal to ‘containment’
on several ratios
of internalised
gentrification
systems
of locked
thresholds
arc endlessly
what scraps of
lethargy
graffiti & litter
that London can offer
monostable multitudes
whispering gently
radiate static
caramelised rust.

*

no glitches re-
produce what a razor might
activate ghost-noise
lock, in the 243 bus
on sodium circulation
endlessly clenched
persons flutter in rings
of hermetic anger’s
frequency signal
stars as static
& bourgeois fiction, dead
long before they hit ground
burrow into what our feet are
‘love’ as a blazing circular saw
glowing, ecstatic & silent
slogans wiped out
by entirely official rain
punishable by up to 10 years
in kisses, from several angles
instability threatens

Tracts (((6)))

the social is also
private, its locks
radiate specifically
through what each
voice can capture, &
this is not a painting,
where the image is
nothing but what catches
inside each throat as
doorway to something as
specific as what a ‘shop’ is,
the conversation aspires to
‘love’, but ends in
the kidnap chamber as
arched investment, patched,
a book of slit butterflies,
secret, but downloadable, &
everything on half-price
curdles this half-life
echoes each individual
letter is gashed onto
most faces are tracts
for pasting on walls.