Sunday 13 February 2022

An Empty Shadowmap

Ticking rapid ticking on over cold, eddying torn paper, 
hands always on, a cycle in space a line a long a track, on 

to a finality of snuff, but eternity in eddying, or laps in water,

breath expelled under a surface, uncertainty of light; an

Imperceptible drifting along a wall and imperceptible cosmic

turning, a breath in, a faint itching along the skin over the 

muscles in a back, my back, a back that maps pressure from 

a supporting wall. A shadow of time, ticking, traces its own empty 

analogy, empty movement, a face of inevitable death and slavery 

to production and social reproduction. Rain is throbbing life steadily 

against a roof drawing on, across eternities of soft air, greening light,

light paling, goldening and warming, skin through darkness and auras.

A washing through the hour, the hour washing through us, edges

never exact or quite clear, ticking rapid ticking over and alongside.

Saturday 16 October 2021

The Road Ahead

 The Road Ahead


There should always be work


rock under a low

iron sky



pressing you and 


your “children” 



in accord with

requirements for

striving docility


rational priorities for 

maximising & serving



If you stay under an iron sky

if you are smiling bleeding but 

your mouth shut

no deviating from the order

maybe you won’t starve 


Ask and you shall 

not receive 

without receipts

for contributions


even the 


enslaved must 

make due 


for the


we must serve


Lacerated souls

a pressing iron sky

might lead to rewards

if you’re good even

if you were 

born scum service 

will be rewarded 


no question

just work


The we we the family we blood 

we communally we are 

above we float we fly 

over ourselves when 

we are seen only 

if we are settled

if we are rooted 

and recognised


We work for the economy

the economy works for us 

the world should work for us

as it is we work with lacerated soles

it should feed our rooted settlements

as we work for it and nothing 

need be different everything

remains but will it work for us

but we will work work hard for them


Government will govern as a

partner will partner governors

will not dictate will love and cherish

equality between governors the 

governed will do as they’re told the 

government lurves governors all 

governors together governing the 

scum the dirty little grubs must 

be shutting the fuck up


All our money our tax money public

money is wasted murdered shit spaffed 

it must be kept and not shit flushed 

through lazy lives if capital has no use 

there is no use no value outside profit 

we will not waste it on we dam the flows 

prevent the flows of moneyshit and hoard 

keep lock it and keep it aggressively 

prevent uselessness in lives no

use no value pointless lives 


We will invent 

honest dealing 

despite everything 

despite men

dacity our own we 

will cant can’t 

be seen can’t see 

us through West

minster walls


role play kink

for betrayal


On the long road ahead 

to unmentionable emptiness

we will proudly love 

abstract exalted 

dreams of our 

power marking

essential especial 

exceptional us

(only) but not to divide 

from them the others 

who’re not but 

mere emanations and 

slaves of our 

ultimate slavery

exalted slaver

Sunday 27 June 2021

New untitled poem


… on a way, stretching across the light 

reflecting from a low sun and off a rarely opened window,

only sometimes up but always further, 

there’s always more. 

There’s always more. 

There are spectra beyond us, 

access is always limited, and auditory ranges playing at our far edges

and we don’t ever know what may be done, except there’s never any 

                        true end, 

even death comes amidst, even …

… a polished surface under a fingertip, a fresh blue, coolly penetrated by thirsting vision; 

there are numberless shifts, always, always more and we connect, disconnect, stretching … 

… like Clov, never going out, always starting again or going on, 

        inside the light and 

noise we are bleeding infinitely into that is extending us infinitely,

that delimits and surpasses infinitely, 

                          space and colour and time,

these bricks and the colour of these bricks are already beyond me … 

Wednesday 21 April 2021

Attempted Flight

This life the colour 

        of my blood 

of blood at all &

that colour 

  lives and means nothing but 

a colour of life

a site of a shocking

shocking love

Sunlight is food

opening pores of 

a porosity of 

      crossing with excited revival

a head turned outwards outo a swirling

a revolving galactic fire 

and twitching with a

sustenance of joy despite

            all the cold


This poison this me I 


from glancing semi-


this poisonous 

cage full of voices

bosses and cops and a whispering priesthood

    woven with absent money

an insistence of slicing venom

     smeared across a möbius surface 

An insistence that drips, myself

is damage

     the body is joy 

doing 80 through 

sunshine and blossom 

Wednesday 14 April 2021

Poly Poem - with theft from PB Shelley

I never was I just I 
always at least with you assembled 

I was never convinced, never attached, drawn by that 

cult of Platonic assumption

I was never entirely enthralled never wrapt

in an assumption that love is wrong or a provision of 

goods or services like

they provide for these requirements but are 

wanting ...         elsewhere: 

What can they give you that I ... ?

Why commend to cold oblivion this

joyful assemblage because a different 

happy assemblage also exists? 

I was never convinced;

I was copped and judged 

copped and judged in my own

flexing of sinews, I 

was refuted 

through a world that runs me through 

It is in the code 

of modern morals 

but my love is not bound

and is not consumed, 

or had, and my love 

is not a piece of 

fucking cake. 

Across a day


Light; lovely licking lapping -  light; laying over, laying across a day  across a day  

hands washing handing off and gesturing through space a breadth of solidarity,

light, lovely, licking lapping - light, laying over laying across, a day, across a day;

creative bodies, forces, plugged in, evacuated relevance: automated slave unit - 

Light; lovely licking lapping -  light; laying over, laying across a day  across a day  

body digging through thin sunlight, digging deep and where it is told to dig,

light, lovely, licking lapping - light, laying over laying across, a day, across a day;

shoes a-clack at behest of enslaving abstraction, through aslant bars of summer,

light; lovely licking lapping -  light; laying over, laying across a day  across a day 

and then a rain and

a rain and a rain

and a raining out across 8 million living blue green, grey green

rain and a rain and

a rain and a 

rain raining over a wrapped fluorescent body under orders always ordered under

rain and a rain 

and a rain and a rain

a gaze against glass and streaks of flight, refractions in reverie a quiet brief refusal, 

light; lovely licking lapping -  light; laying over, laying across a day  across a day

with turning back, a refusing looking, away, alighting there, before lightly -  escaping,

light, lovely, licking lapping - light, laying over laying across, a day, across a day;

evanescent escaping snagged and captured, returned by their own drives to their own yoke,

light; lovely licking lapping -  light; laying over, laying across a day  across a day

digging through soft sunlight, skimming across a screen plane, smiling into vapid night,

light, lovely, licking lapping - light, laying over laying across, a day, across a day;

steam streaming from a boiler outlet into cold air, they sit quietly in eddies of escape and capture. 


A bursting, shocking blackness out of a flat-grey plane, infinity,

bringing, interior, a vague, or actually imperceptible, suggestion of 

afternoon sunlight. 

                                 Entwining with an imperceptible suggestion: an infinity of subtlety, a

smeared sense of perceiving and reaching: access is obscure. 

Clear, obscure

A limpidity obscure vertical plane, a pool of surface is 
here depth or penetration lies across the surface re
splendent without any beyond a surface beyond is 
more, more surface, penetrated across the same 
plane, a picture plane, a plane of the image of 
infinite movement, speed and slowness, intersects
reflects, light, bouncing blue, ricochet red, pearly through
wet raining hours, amber soft and threatening softly 
through darkness by a dreamy slinking over internal things.

A picture plane cannot be penetrated, but reflecting from
it’s surface a clarity of suggestion, a suggestion of 
intersections of pure planes lapping and crashing or
intersections of pure blades cutting through or
slipping past each other, non-humans, higher dimensions or
lower, a picture plane cannot be penetrated but seems so
at a glance that light seems to cut through when it is 
bouncing off, a plane of the image of infinite becoming 
limpidity obscure vertical or horizontal, a pool of surface. 

Hanging: lake

 A lake banging against a cloudy sky, tearing

across undulations, laughter echoing; down that bank; 

a spatter, rising prismatic and brightening, shining 

against a white concrete curve, 

struggling against, a decline in passive

time, an hour contracts and hangs, shimmering

and revolving but nothing is aware of it.

*    *    *

A spattering and quick - and briefly 

dark against white concrete; “the real

is not impossible but is increasingly 

artificial” and twisting through “vast powers of


repression” as the brightness is increasing;

its resistance unassailed, aspect of an hour

that is perfect for a radius of 500 sq metres. 

*    *    *

500 sq metres hangs; exquisite,

revolving around itself, an hour’s  reverberation.

Rippling of an, afternoon contracting inside

wetting, rising and brightening and

colliding and so shockwaves and 

an hour contracts and nothing is aware:

revolving, shimmering with blackly invisible silence. 

*    *    *

The “full body becomes truly naked”, a

day continuing for at least 10 miles,

those “vast powers” alongside a rising arc of

refraction: brightness curving, shocking, 

white concrete. That “is, the absolute 

decoding of flows,” with a rapid contraction

of the hour - but with no possible response.  

*    *    *

Nothing is aware, a revolving of a bright 

hour; “the folding and flattening operations,”

a contraction and a brightening prismatic arc,

brief and dark against a shining: hard curve

an absolute in its own scale. Small within 

approximately 500 sq metres. The hour

of the afternoon rippling as it is hanging. 

*    *    *

White concrete curving under a wet spatter,

in the midst of an hour contracting - “every

fantasy is a group fantasy” and a brightening

prismatic arc quickly becoming: dark, 

within an afternoon suspended for the hour,

“depleted flux of a historic cosmos”, with

silence, with a very rapid darkening, revolving.