from ‘The Commons’ (set 3)

Sean Bonney

our minds are clean & pleasant
– bliss –
listen, we are your friends
– blank –
gliding like magazines / we,
inside each nations serenity
sitting near you on the bus
totally harmless characters
strange and flattering numbers
seriously, trickling inside
what we once were / we,
esoteric in panic
swifter than birds
in our social role, objects –

objects / tobacco & brandy
or something truly ridiculous
class struggle / in poetry also
– yawn –
its contagion is spread
via rhymesters, their embers
their swarms of bone
not zombies, sirens
criss-cross a fraudulent
a map of, of what –
got an art council grant
will burn their houses down
– yawn –
everyone’s been buried alive

in this recent knot of days
the vile prickle of pills
is entirely political / these
grimy days, yeh, their static
preposterous symmetry / so
the side effects are, well
like this: its 11. 58, precisely
an entire molecular assembly
a ring of executive flats
a cheap solar monopoly. But,
I dunno, from another angle
– pitched green malevolence –
– of the english countryside –
o cuckoo, nasty little churches

so we were buying weapons
ok / lets start that again –
on public transport, it happened
we were sitting opposite
bullets / chemistry / glass
we were separated. inside
what we once were. & they
were sitting opposite, empirical
& scared. they were scared
of us / our charts & remorse
no-one knows / we were buying
inside their office, the dead
they were scared of us, of
our seven metals / & radar shrike

posterity / landlord / spheres
swarms / jobsearch / wind
– wow, laws –
eclipse / reverie / slaves
magnetic / scholar / finks
o millivolt / o globe
– this is a –
we are ringing geometrics
a tame & trickling noise
curfew / playback / disks
singing like violence
my true love
my black & speechless bone

but as I was out walking
with the strange & bitter men
we were / say it / we were
anxious radar dogs / we were
oblivious swarms, cancelled
solvents, polite ones / we were
a confused mass of centuries
seven burning circles / were
electrons / proverbs / molecules
from hand to crackling hand
a fraudulent cosmology
a hole in the ground
I wish london would
like, crack its face / o cuckoo

The Commons will be published later this year. Click here to read our interview with Sean Bonney.

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