100+6. Inward Flourishes

What we’re talking about’s more like landscape

Laying itself before us as we travel through

Its stones & stories are the world around and

In

It’s like a ritual – no not a perfected one

Binding us to death, but improvising to give power

Let us move freely & loosely, OK then

Flourish

Yes, deny and riot, even burn

But build at once, replacing things

By people & what we need to live well and

Flourish

Even feast: on curry pie, cold noodles

Anything too the children love who now range freely

Truly nourished & nurtured fully outside and

In

94. Play and Labour in This Despite

Yes, we escape, but not the white noise

other excesses & pleasures stripped out here

wisdom is to huddle together in the event

nothing looks in

“Everyone you know / is lost somewhere”

Well, OK, that explains the silence, the ripped

paper scattered as if there’d been rioting

in the next valley

Remembrance & silence - their cold clear taste

vivid, affectless yet painful, shrivelling

this place just a stain on appearance where

nothing looks in

All these lies: play, labour, despite and

even grandmothers. How can this be explained?

Rotting down together, a macedoine of verbal events

in the next valley

85. And Where We’re to at Being, Then

As the possibilities for capital’s expansion of profit shrivel

Through fraud, rivalry & the running out of all resources

One above all remains – the mass of population. Sell them

Into slavery again & again

Each time let them pay the price for themselves in full. Let

Every expectation be removed of how we can escape this.

This is the end of history as the few crush us all. They’ll

Falter incapably.

Each ripped tendril of our shared humanity unshared will shrivel.

Our future drifts en masse across rubble & filthy silt, resource

-less in every sense: small-scale coteries of Sawney Beanes them

-selves lost for ever again.

And again. Can we think or act how to get out of this utter abjection?

Rioting & burning are only the beginning, the need to refuse & probably kill

Every gated development, public school, private clinic & financial instrument

Until burning, burning, burning

      the rawness of our wounds

      still stabbing, stories

      of resistance in the borderlands

      only together

      only a part, this part

      of what must be opened

      the true book

      of our final history

      which shall otherwise

      remain unwritten ever.

78. Somehowness Demonstrated & Adjusted to

Here we are, exposed to all

Material reality shoves at us

True to tell, Offa was right

Somehow

The limits of improvisation

Pretty clear – soup from pus?

Sour milk only & no gravy train

OK - adjust

Remember that glamour is grammar!

You can wake up to all this

Suddenly sheathed in fluid light

Somehow

Poets like weddings we hope

Hey! Time to start again

Prick on the muumuus! And

OK – adjust

65. Artognou Faked It

What a good story Artognou says. In part

the world is opened & renewed – its rawness

not a wound but vernal fresh growth

& new words

In part it’s still burning & shall be

its heart consuming itself for the instant

we live so briefly and so unsimply

mundane & strange

Let’s go, guys, for the big list of random things

you know, what actually happens. Oh!

what sort of place is this then? Well –

– can’t say

We do like stories though. Only –

there are so many here, but partly resoluble

(thank you words!) into some luscious comforting fake

enjoy!