Digital Poetics #19 I AM A FREE I AM NOT MAN A NUMBER by Cole Denyer
An emotion of shoes fitted
to thank the Government!
GOD selling on the plea shortage yes
hung from a peg yes standing
in half a dozen half-acres
of pseudo-park regurgitated,
yes I speak of Taplow,
Burnham and Bray
the world is one magnificent shop
on green and pleasant land you
can sell whatever you want!
To share the name of our village
when it spreads and you feel grateful
remember it uses numbers,
measurements and indicators
in early warning systems that’s
physics up the crane on Wimpey
building sites to harmonise
with the semi-detached villas
as our mission statement
and preserving this exclusive ambiance
at least one servant must be forced
into the smallest practical size
and should be kept to the rear of
the property, below the ridge line
and out of sight of any unsympathetic
shopfront elements putting me in ecstasy
to waste, death, violence
and animal cruelty on Monday ask
again to share the name of our village!
Ask genetic egress its appetite
to share the name of our village
and then leave social starlings
use keypad to enter First name,
Last name and extension number surrounded by
the air islands remember our village
in the wind over half a dozen half-acres!
and the water closet flows
none other than the maternal silk
ribbon that shoots pure hot bliss
and you will be the reason of
these names and you will be natural and clean
and you can share the name of our village!
***
A crap misaim bottle of sable
colour wired together
in clop of blondish tuff
ask for dodo meat outside
for old times sake an obsolete light
stills silk jackets out in
Cookham melt brittle toenails to the sun
purlin in defect blat pril this sweet air,
wherein my joys are a chest pain
under the drooping floors
its satyr chorus of imperium
hard-ons this soil
is grace and favour like eaves
shaded long in a psychodrama
submissive loyal to portfolio
marquee screening kindred grandezza
in nacreous snail trail all popped
white-collar clubmen moue in tandem
toby jugged ranine dinner speech
muzzle the coffers, mine hence not yours
***
Daddy Pig chortles disinfectant while
the carousel hologram of a boat race
collides from Lubberland just wait
two thousand leagues in Dover alone
all foppish fair haired boys ahoy in traditional
oak quad sculls shaped like Cricks double helix,
going 500 miles an hour in pure indomitable
pluck and will all thrusters to blunt
heraldic bleed, Blue boys swilling
on the beach bald coots Logie Leggatt here
to bleat and bust any crabbed youngsters!
big the wall and build it firmer this country
faces a downhill snip on a two-bit pence!
TIME nor CHANGE occurs here until
the formation of a Bully Furking outside Calx
dies purple white a wallop like pudding en surprise,
for a testimonial pitch parade everyone
larping halfway in a Bad Calx bed eyed skivers
kicked on every plutocracy,
every bureaucracy, has also been a gerontocracy
on common ladder at H.Q. Eugenics House
given the same native ability promotion
queue suddenly fell down a clapped out
base born whirligig,
with sumptuary laws you must eat dunce liver
feckless rolling around drunk it burns up
the Church of England's grass
so tremendous is its noxious influence
but boats as good as brains nowdays
this vast floating army cum laude
the new dispensation sinks
homme moyen sensuel
***
Eligible children under 5 if you die
then dreadful trumpets will
haunt your families glorious
coat of arms burying the flowers
deep in marshland acid pleat little
Goldilocks all your coffers dispersed
mangled among the baying pauper nest
trove of shirkers bone to bone,
mouth agape like skies rain cheese
yet here we lay in dreamers dream
until an EGG germinates a frog
free from all tyranny, crazy.
Years pass and the doom cast drivers
hurtle to hooting on the ruins
of this devastated world our forsaken frog
is now subterranean remade in rootkit
swill out cybercart a muted blitzkrieg
transmogrified across all time
as a failed exorcism where gen(e)mastery finds
itself looping the inter-passive online delicatessen
4 YouTube soliloquy aeternum.
The contemporary helices
where your undamaged world sings
suburbana mumbling blue hue
the frog has amassed a large
trove of elders gilded in the router,
the chortle nest of haemorrhoids
wrapped around this hived mind
perforate in callouts all doffed
and no where to go, hole closes.
Retreating truth seekers on jiggle peak
or wallbang this scythe
crashing into the inner wall of
a parasitic brain its dearest
kept patriarch cut to poor crucible,
the pageantry of urine culverts
they gleam under light
they shimmer in the sink
when you wake shaking
to be found later in a hedgerow
with bated breath carping
a tune never forgotten likely
melted for not being PCC’D.
*
Cole Denyer (1994) is an artist and writer based in the gut of class treachery and watching over his shoulder for every budding cop.
*
This publication is in Copyright. Cole Denyer, 2020.
The moral right of the author has been asserted. However, the Hythe is an open-access journal and we welcome the use of all materials on it for educational and creative workshop purposes.
