7 Poems by Cole Denyer
To The Huts
nerve presets
next to my
accomplished alarm
locked day and
night out
livid in cellulose
its orbital home moving
stupid liquid forever
in the curing
of sleep you can
not decline
that fillings excite
the big zeroes
as crown pains
camp in
the baked sky
diagnoses the fracas
as illustrated trauma
made the bloodline
mute the vein
in circulation,
our ears are
now in excellent
condition as the sound
is almost always
awful clocking
scathes the hum
about the streets
struck the throat
with blood
padlocked bursts-
that is proof enough
never counts
feral under
baton rounded
cost pride into a
large bolus, its texture
marbles the larynx charge
of lifetime disposals
the turret
speaks what is won,
chokes the sky and
crosses it through
now the cadastre
sings out uptake
the floating
scale matured chime
kick lock free
for the voice sealed
in the ring outcry,
no one wants to see
the ballistic
gelatine record
since it has decreed
the air already
mixed with bone
in the panic
rotor see from the
bioethical shard
between the blind shutters
no jobs marches
amok over
the proud varicose
fat on sun-loungers,
watch the juvenile
lash out now watch
the choppy sink
in badlands the saturnalia
so eat the
chicken-wings
gilded in a
better hour
as price phthalates
byte misfortune
is destined to play
out icy pour
the singing polymer,
a countless heartbeat
or glucose decant burnt
off nothing
which fire pales
in the fumes
and ash more to
ameliorate than paraffin,
to do justice by
that carbide with
muddy roots in zero
for the belly and
so to the ground
just sat there
in urgent moral
appeal or not
for turning away
palisades care
as it gets meted out
with song of
betwixt burning
behind our backs
and outside
lacquer the concrete
intumescent
you see them
Union Jack Poncho Emergency
(1/3)
Of a smart new
tent push on
the fence watching
you birdie like grow
the balcony wild
we start to
count three, two, one
want to watch
them eat a testicle
we are told smells
of sausage returning
to watch them
on the fences you
pot that mad
dead adult near perfect
child impress the bunker
makes you feel
that bypass over
cleared checkpoints
door reopens says
now that was
a tracking shot
(2/3)
As by tying
or wrapping to
touch this stock
with speculum brand
the blurred caloric engine
is a poncho emergency
on the perimeter of
quarantine or Homeland
(3/3)
You’re on
that balcony with those
model dream hands
running out
the petrol smells
are those future
kidney transplants
your children need
The Souls Love Of Peace Is A Fascist Vote
(1/2)
More through into
hearts and minds
the balcony
like manna out of
thinning air
high levels of
dioxides, asbestos
and heavy metals
promise to rebrand
empty land sured
up to trickle down
as backwater
pinioned national
bunkers to nurture
galley kitchen venture
arrested in the
carbuncle of a quart
of decimated milk
life firstly is
work and secondly
it is relaxing company
pleasures the audience
chamber around the
mosquito dispersal
observable
by the age of 18
you still have
to live in the instant
value drives back
customers to
reseal dog-eared
putsch these ones
over there wanting
to see them be
dogs again burnt
bricks again run out
again the
mobility curfew
again hanging
off dad again
not to be a
sad tranquilliser,
in protective
gear the cell
is gelid mamma
where are the
henchmen?
deteriorated most
in human ears
from congregating
outdoors the child
factory you see where
the community
of risk would hold
up the workable state
shingle breaking from
meal stock of dearth
but it can appear on your
face, eyes and genitals
At The Chelsea Flower Show Pigs Cannot Serve As Asymptomatic Carriers
drive petals into poor,
love is keening in to
free pleat
having been there
leat breath
accepting with
bearers fix the fruit
land as it edits
against the complete
sprig coup you can-
as all good things
must find out
how to fillet wall
as the thinnest stock choice
or waiting at this up hedge
in yours which it
empties with us the same
table as much wide
as earth to a good cause
interrupted into the faintest
summit of burning runs
over the energy of metal
as this we speak for on
poor wraith
is the road we pay
into land your high eyelid
with rain compounds
their footbridge
a report on the
open market in
capillary break sounds
impossible on a
double-decker
routemaster bus turns
first as the rain screen
is the siding itself
from getting wet
in a private garden
platform the remotest
choice of hate suckles
the switch nurse fine
in vacancy and
fairings clock a
fault right down
deep to show the peel
back of the face into
refuted tender for each acre
is foot and mouth
as instrument clearing
in honest starred lathe
too early too late
100% proper burgers
Natural and civic
wish georgic oranges
people reach
out we switch to
eau minérale naturelle at
love overseas,
what dimension
the heartland splinter
thinks the topsoil
is not known
contamination measure traps
you in a fake meeting carried
out during the summer
over mantric rabies
for salved persuasion
only you
thought you
could escape
100% proper Burgers
This publication is in copyright to Cole Denyer 2019 and may not be reproduced without the approval of the87press or the author.
Cole Denyer (1994) is an artist and poet based and working in London. His self-published works include Postukolypmics (2017), HMSKS (2018), Your Legal Stay Has Ended (2018) and The Housing Act 1985 (forthcoming). Recent artistic projects include: War-Pig, Local Project Space, (2017), and ’Party Politics’, Lima Zulu 2 (2018). He also organises Rest Breaks, a poetry and performance event series.
