SATYRS AND MEPHITIC ANGELS

‘… paradise was never attractive; it was accepted as part of the bargain because it meant the avoidance of its opposite. This did not yet make the negation of the negation, or the negative dialectic, into a product of secularization. But it suggests the invaluable historical advantage of being able to say that the Messiah has not yet come. What has already been can only be disappointing. The chiliastic enthusiasts of both sacred and worldly peripeties have always understood that.’

Hans Blumenberg, The Legitimacy of the Modern Age

SATYRS AND MEPHITIC ANGELS

Go litel bok, invoice these strain line shadow inks,

or suffer in silence imago mephitis,

I can smell your poison squirt of ingrained chalice,

squids in blood-dust of leavening slates, it blakes too,

or as art suffering dusts this its antique time

and that there monstrous word glory in suffering.

A dangerous demagogic word holds us surely,

like the masses the measure is suffer; for these

abolitionist crudités, as raw mangetout,

may smash up (piano) while your smudge spill barks out

beyond purely verstehenden explication,

in these hand sewn diagnostics of future past.

If as tool performed the so forth poises genie,

angle as massage stones of which the knights Templar

will build over geo-roof folie de patrie,

and not notorious dress codes of tea-room zones,

in memoriam tears torn in atomiser

stutter sprays: but which public takes this reading room

challenge to continuous administrative

contacts? We press on in class marks etching wretches,

we as two roles flush out imagoless twinnies,

touchstones plate these nail grimy as naught or nothing

under the optic sun: d’you know it too, lumpen

prole boho, all declassé like fat sump fury,

eh fairy with the awful smell glues mephitic.

DOLPHIN SONG

Would I were as Arion, or as the story told,

choosing harp fish swordpens to take the plank, the egg,

the swallowing passion in supperless díke.

Where is that dolphin now? we still adhere to the

doctrine of redemption which originally

connoted a slave purchasing his liberty:

not to change its world but to escape this, it has

flown off the wheel, off grief’s thole misery while vine

sprays against are its expenses. For dolphin song

which one among is hunger anánke, potlach

expenses defrayed deformist, details lacking

as if normal proceeding will follow slaughter,

or our harmony parts dissolve clear and brittle.

A DREAM OF PELAGIUS

That trump of revelatory will-lessness breath

avers how pre-Arctic the lapsus never was,

never Adam’s before graceless worldly games pall

and all to the din of make it thine, wanderlust

times where no tour like it he dreams, as rushes breathe

and the snow-bunting pains, nesting monkish homes

(pre-gardens), before the yes worldly cross-treck terns

all dovecotes mysterious return, while saying

like ptarmigans want the genius malignus:

I am not nor hope be lest this history yet,

but as no locust trip fastens down epistles,

nor if we define progress as burning gold eagles,

will oblige this dissolution in camel shirt

reaching, past oblivion straws, and, ascetic,

wait skua’s revenge on burning magnesium.

Gulls disgorging throats cry food, where are my lies now?

and gash to treachery, as will you read me in

fragments, so press on dark glacial char, these glooms

THE IDEA OF ORDER
AT HABERMAS-PLATZ

What about then as if Cant of Latter Day Saints

is adrift, white feathers, malgré tout adrift seas

singing bugger thy hymns alas amid ilex.

These no-churches in pages dust community

are blest satellite and video monasteries;

I kid you not word-smog petroglyph-boulevards,

just sing anthems to the tannoy blue mountain blend –

thy lord think on of hard times revolutionists

that is this my yellow and coffee dust halo.

Stop for orangeade in class struggle museums

where druids of domestic diamat dial

adjust down our Lady of the Garden Centre;

so alphabet ratio in D.I.Y. Church

dawns on fishers of networks puritanical,

all undistorted or wish-sweet as bliss revenge;

sound bite angel, go wholly public spherical.

ENTELECHY: MARGINALIA

facies hippocratica now to well up

with proper dues where landscaping peters out in

forlorn, petrified thimbles and plastic tears.

There’s roads across to fashion hermitage where all

out with the must pass muster, curdling instruments

of resumption, as erring no blood letting fails

the succour memorial of blood, in them there hills

where wordless deforestation, without reply,

is the back catalogue of ironed out anger.

This rush drowns out familiar species lament

in the accurate strain upon half-line gardens,

as fresh caught ruins of herd doubts and tired love sigh

in the book of wells lascivious, if it’s fine!

and aimless eclipsing furrows the banished plod

of its sincerely crisp phenomenology.

Lichen sidles against their arid kenosis

and will be jargoned to those guitarra yes strains

by those back to second nature word boys of ach!

expletive decay, rewarding for plein air stills,

just yearning for that anorganic sybilline

rivalry of being in print, hark hectoring,

DENIZENS OF LOW STREET

All along the low street hopes akimbo, and plants

wilder but denizened out spit it, upon this

cobble sliding hurts all midlothian drag-heart,

while the mile’s bilious rain smiles better, which now

castles into palaces we have not outlived,

and feels blood apocryphal drive the denizens,

vomiters, and ye of scant hope shuffling among

rucksack rashes, to wish some purdah for to be

and not notes on the decline of Scottish murder.

The Sappho parchment clasps our bitten horizon:

there is pornocracy, which no pibroch here sings,

just as still water runs deep swimmingly below:

pray tell, not calmly, to lease punctured yearning clans,

is it this way lies mercat ahoy festival;

go and Campbell it out along the soup high way

autobahn to Glencoe, while you stake the low roads,

I’ll die before you, fit-you-saying speak-easy in

pop furious ballad style: Warhol? I’ll Warhol you!

That lettre à d’Alembert misweighed how the

civic joy can be stationed for the tart riposte:

under three crosses mercat you can spot the ball,

That vamp still acts, dreaming eats of tourists for tea,

whose ghost con-tours will not bring back the silver birch,

and the cambered pace macadam rolls sighways,

while beneath, children pass for the well clad courtless,

playing private nursery courts in romper suits,

states streamed as united colours of brash refuge,

but will the car be ready, dreams wild one freezing,

still refusing the grim one bar heating cross road,

as residual rockbearing slough subsiding cries:

Nova oh no Scotia, lime my sheepless north face.

DAYMARES

It was easier to keep on than wait for days

to shorter get, allowing night speak day-mares their

turn to rust amicably amid thoughts silting hope;

no imagined that could not falter, needing nights

back to imagine with when the city silts too,

searching for what unseemly newness, unsilted still,

to save a heat where satire crumbles, or a past

catching on to this new temerity, its weight

of action as rusts no longer amicable.

want, so many little deaths, boring the shiners

upon quick graves of angers, or is it lonely

passing among without heed for exile therein.

Don’t suppose, would it, that by-the-by clocks off, while

awash in daymares and nighting lamps of waste our

goods selling bads the very dregs knew odious:

discussion is waged on alarmist, in alerts,

by sofa or by crook, or sang froid pachyderms,

but raptured hurtwise tracks regret to hope dusting!

as in truth to say mourn for the past circumvents.

HIBERNATIONS

The shadows are longer, out of touch with its times,

but the geese-steps of accommodation bristle

and are still life no more, you know the kind of thing;

O money, O function, O job, lend me just the

private and confidential, dazzled convictions

of the prevailing absolutely wrong, or so.

It’s all over bar the accountancy and the

dispiriting fibre of the nevertheless

necessary reticence. Old hat, can I not

eat the psalms, the blushes, the feigned departures,

and then the kandym, perchance to skip from tuber

to tumour, abashed at the violence of critique

THROUGH THE BUY-OUT JARGON

I am virus soul corp, hug me to this unreal

viral city which had not thought, death undone, so

short term many fun-funding were this captive class;

for our soul libidinal pulsations referred,

hush fund breezes cyclone my well-products esquire,

or are greenfield ventures as this stock cubism falls.

I am aid pack, cash-crop and pearl mint tax heaven

with airs, seedcorns, graces skeltering pro or fits,

yours contumely, or old use-value as am used;

but cashing chips one in, figaro appliqué,

these now machine tools bitter this dream crop decor,

appellation cash vortex, wonders contrôlée,

as atrium hollows words which do not pass go.

POSITIVE INDISCRIMINATIONS

The male my hermit and manner view, or it ill

be easier to amble you, as sod the count’s

odd sadeian bosom: that twizzle of velour

Your after personal lather shaves conditions to

the grain, and sandal would glows penumbra, like raised

faculties lathed to is it me you’re looking for?

I’ll be buggered doubt if it ill be easier

to trekky from cling-on to boldly woe, wrecky

from hornblower, as my toy captain flies undone

to the oh so moby dick. Stand out in flux, my

chassis, go getty get two! where a rival peers

so in dissidence are personality glues.

Can it for cried out loud be ill, this bolster blust,

where muzzles so militant are discriminate

particular wars losing dots to incisions?

Woe aquamarine boy ogles a-gloop, fish tank

a-breathing, might as well plunder your theme tune’s youth,

breeding goggles as Irish masques unflint the stones

which are teething the Troubles in this Trumpet town,

as glorious good would await the orange monsoon

marching season: will it be veiled rivers of blood,

or the world well lost, washing soldiers dreams to the

foot of iambs? How now, brown cow, sacred brownie

of a cubbish clout, will it come in bull-dog chants?

My wall to wall crumbles, fondling what its falling

reason suffices, and I’ll Hemingway in slow

motion, if you’ll be mine buster, this double oh

Camera my maybe as I fleet it to crashing

guitars! and sheer out to one big man walk for one

kind man, in head-brides revisited while gloaming

cities groom unquiet, but as mental suers

gutter-press it, I am as ill as resources:

does it feel good renouncing discrimination?

I bet! Well I’ll be, belower me willingly,

I canute not these kingly waves, but despair the

eponymous women and children from sieges,

while old uncurl dunder-bluss is the unveiled pause

of all kiss, whose lips chrome the enemy salvoes

training in play boy plasticine pavlov artwork.

Still it looks like trouble, it looks like there’ll be more,

but candle my armour random bores, I’m just an

amicable man, who spays distance aargh moor dusts

of uppishness and beaches lust spermaceti

for hope the mastodon, spolia opima

of reason’s amble to homo erectus, as

veiled shaft members ingrate diction shamble it so.

Passed out to out pretty, I know you the son, my

fathead farmer will be as worn by the hand-downs,

aging deceased repent! But as no demiurge

I’ll libertine time in gnostic bliss, or is it

blisters, it harm you will harmly done, yes blisters,

calmant to the sleepless still caffeine trot, and thus

zealot erectus, homing my consensus, if

not saving face secrets himself is man, or would

IN MEMORIAM JOSEPH BEUYS

1

In gripe lore rumbles war among moderns

         the humble it dreams wet

these hold all penchants for how to pay

         lisp your r around Rimbaud and go all

impresario mon juste

             for thieving abates

but not the look as contemporary mingles it

howl mid-atlantic coyote

                       fat sucker lush

likes Beuys like Beuys likes publicity so

          this even if Andy troubles

what with what politics what’s yours?

as fifth international slow gloats demise

consolidates inc

                       among diverse others

slow boating it to audience participation

         behind you! in chat show chews

we’re warming up for pause core grain-

less sepia relents in cut up

         burrows all together now!

sweating last human pieces my contact

                                             there faded

sepia genitals in tattoo smile from old calendar

                        relents still to in the know

shining in my irony plated social kills

nice to see you yes it’s delicious

wishing seconds like no felt tomorrow

                       slow down the pratfalls

harmony guise shines freeze innuendo and

hurrah for applause man standards we can

         on cue like it! Dalai Lama cosmetic

as answer drifted back over remote minelands

of a dead star not very

call me cute

call me what the hell you laugh for canned.

2

It’s all hands on ship my feckless sea persons

drop curtains we’ll futurist in rich disturbance

ahoy art-less! viral shows shout against those

we’re Just-In-Time that’s JIT! for go-slow

                           All out! our future ist franchised

                           down sound bites ye petty bouge pas!

         pun along a few don’ts on Sunday we bleed

or shallow it through to mid price laments

                           toads of woad hole you bore us

we’ll go all eco art trash cosy if you don’t

         sit up and pay cable

         subscribe there follow the leader!

we’ll be no ad man’s throb flush prize job

twitching to first over the wall corp ego

                           our sounds bite back fat sucker

         jealous Maecenas from slash cut prices

the Texas in memoriam trophy shudders

to the standard oils of Folger juniors

get out of conglomerates get into Shakespeare

                           ye olde facsimile hoards it pays!

                           a word from our sponsoring angels

award your bliss markets and get compact!

or is that weariness rather than perspectival

spread-sheet autocue ho, ho! on camera one

         you mean we never meant

         it that play so fast we must

         scratch ahead the wireless

accustomed to the sped words buy now!

no dirge but in mono-breath jive talk junk

                         you groove we track

                         encomiums and viral breath

                         blows its own sales to sirens

this is your life the bellows wheeze where none

         coyote howls to straw ideology without ideas

cloudy in places where these scattered showers

purpling in damask sash that nought a muses.

3

Jelly roll fat pack culture strolls complete

on I don’t know but yep it’s all here in grey

for a live one saddest of all moving pictures

         just listen and underwear charming

pants off I’ll flag mine to see the tie slip!

dialogue yep surety sure

                         wait your snatch through meals

for more hot dinners than we have feed back

                         it’s in the pink

         but even comes a turn to eat mics

you’ll speak like journal pit bull scholion

avante! avante! the changing of the guard

         me fat sucker – you coyote dig it!

all substrates to the impresario gel

                           neo-neon check that, alright!

teeth to the chisel eyes right

                           storm troop to pithy apocalypse

quick march as masochism ghosts mountain

                           wherever whenever we gather

there’s always one cries yeah! among us

         cut up amid prelates howl on those

unspeakably long lines no agenbite sounds

         done the work get it? know stuff

as corpses oeuvre it to blessed philologist

in double-breasted Achilles-mouth harm-

ony for its next trick please, you’re too kind

              while indianola instrumental novelty

              fox trots to Every Kiss is the Same

                            how’s that coyote?

speak up cry wolf no metaphor murder but

roll on worldly lit. bugs jiggering no really!

gathered here amid self-publicity

                            hymn me

              our text is Tonite!

              your host is shame

and the art of psalmody de profundis I belch.

NO FLIGHT OF EONS

Wingless angels ashen to turn sybaritic,

these ark tones harm its pedestal marmoreal;

then blush our chiliasts, this adamic profanes

whereas pebbles disinter, crumbling unwraps rheums,

still is as stones of dead matters chimerical,

whose diorthosis pores over veins willing spores:

these cherubic ruins through all wish go jussive.