Commons 37 - 41

Housing Benefit ref 400158161:
there will be no violence here,
it is perhaps where that thing,
queen elizabeth,
was practicing her derivative magic,
burning like a city, a heretic
or a child, insisting softly
on a private & particular sky,
a credit reference, for example,
spotted with Hackney Road,
the dreadful cries of murdered men,
inside poetry,
composed exclusively
for entirely official numbers.


But for now lets have some
gratuitous cartoon violence
among the zombies, fingers &
eyes, you can’t have em
- stop -
- he was a -
- bang -
- ringing -
how old are you,
my sweet preposterone,
a heyena in a pretty frock,
resident in Hackney,
which you do not believe in,
sharpening your love like flint.


Last night I lay
in darkened walls -
I sucked his -
I used to whip him
with a turquoise chain
he was a big freak
o enchanting fucking
trickling inside woolworths
its cosmetic flash:
o false egyptians
& english sweethearts,
trapped in un-meaning,
would too eat blood
my lily-white hands


Anyway, back in the
police computer
they are making metonyms,
ambitious ones
intersected by pretty towns
& strings of words
but we are mouths
stupid
stitched into the language
that resting place
for exhausted shoppers
for used opinions
call it the graveyard
o computer


Those who believe
they know how to read
are easily intimidated
I mean right now.
But who is speaking here,
such archaic pleasantry
& insolent noise making
is mere freakish difficulty:
history is those who sit
inside their prepared vocab,
the comfortable ones,
the executioner, especially,
never utters an articulate sound,
quietly gets on with his work.