after Rimbaud (for the administration)

as our co-ordinates are magnetised, & as our exits have been seized
we have vanished, we heavy stones of destruction & light -

as our hands are not aristocratic, still less those of the market
we have come in utter sentiment, some small targeted acquiescence

the angle is fearsome, the order of the day is wretched hope

as your maps are out of commission, we visit you secretly
we circles of cancelled stars, we flying rags of brutal factory girls
would cover your face, would swallow in grace & molestation

George Osborne, god of love, we have spurned beauty