1
white boys use big words to describe boring lives and crap
civilisationsRather than dramatising the
actual tension
i have $31K of Apple.
in me: shed of worlds, i am/not who i crush
: try and commune w. nature, stock psychiatric disorder fetish symptom, bad things appear
in pity
white boys attack everyone
who explain anything.
invent more money so we can be like sweden.
nonbourgeois conceptions of body’s conscience R spirit,
transcendant scooby doo pish makes ppl. scared,
not everyone’s alive as aliens
i have $17K of Alphabet.
prozac ’nd clement atlee for coloniser, lest forget
trading block
get in a pipe to stop virgintrain (hedge/rows/fund)
s better than my john updike/ LRB shite:
hopeful small porches with their jigsaw grey milk-bottle boxes sooty ginkgo treePoetry is a hidden
resource: The System is rotten. Written to protect a tiny elite.”
“Like people who own boats in Stonington.”
“I ran away from it, I reject it, I shit on it, where you’re still loving it, you’re eating it, you’re
eating my shit. My father’s”Poetry is a language of nonexchangeability
“until you die
until you die
until you die” *
i have $11K of Envista Holdings.
in me: fridge of internet the white left wants to redistribute africa\
via masters degree colonel b. sanders.
* from Jay Bernard's monologue on George Jackson's 'Soledad Brother' performed at Ignota Book's 'Break into the Forbidden' (05/06/2020).
2
regal lawns in Empire’s second city — fall apart, for some reason: some dink roun’ woodsmoke
pigfield, my networks — fall apart:
impune scandal, citycouncillor cut monument
tug warm media fantasies about Boer War that entitle u to take ur pint outside
my mother shop local:
portfolio de hydra
earth: getting worse ahhhhurope had already fucked each other up by the 16th century,
the morass looses into unconscious
and lies in wait as institutional force.
i kiss guestcheek.
hugh grant part of the city: whitechildren incubate the past’s extension blot
th’ herefirst: as classwar reads madame’s book about a cat
as classwar smokes cigarette outside wisteria patio,
banished; Leaving u alone w. patron.
PART II: content to build my career w. nothing on my back, not ev’n abstractions.
i love the sound of running water
the sky is the colour of thingsneverchange
rupaul partitions the ongoing war, w. fun telly,
the cradle of ur body in the warmmorning is the best defence,
As u read me Marilyn Buck
As u pat my hair.
3
, roll’d sleeves — whites from the 50s
drained life.
at the marina: career choices as spirit
white ppl. learn to inhabit their wretch
ed military suits (bodies) again papa’s
loot set up for patriarchy daguerreoty
pe.
: The Family repeats.
sun drops on lake,
time travel w/o outside collaboration / verification
makes me neurasthenic
— glitter.
say the night’s word: blue/black, skate bourgeois diktats of time into the
collaps’d present:
hallow’d campgro
und.
i would feel so safe: dancing w. emma goldman.
4
tree: warehouse: garabge lined streets
conspiracy theorist white van/ jaguar:
outsource family but keep family so as t
the fear that i am or will become som
o transfer assets that the upperclass are
body else suggests i have trouble dif
lonely does not nuance their reign: in fac
ferentiating past threats from present.
t complexity is gd PR aka british canon
white boys with opportunities to play we
ird, equipment heavy sport.
consultancy firms as missionary chapels time tell by twists of knife
the adults play golf while we eat american food from baskets, darli
ng, the crucible!
ICELAND
hold u in the insult of no con text/sequence: the edge of
dreams moulder into computer colours, tired arms can’t touch the imposition of
misery
that presents in the innocence of rich ppl. face.
deport counter-revolutionaries to britain / america
where they can be free.
5
Castle walls.
Balloon sculptures at a BNP picnic.
Castle walls.
Press euro-america’s face into sea. Tears run up ‘nd coat your irises.
The doorknob rattles
Yellow crack’a light Widens out to hallway
weeds concrete not so ironic swastikas pissy sleeping bags: state services melt into winter: bags
sleeping pissy swastikas so not ironic concrete weeds: then a gallery space
The door knob wiggles and honks.
tax avoid in a chateau u haven’t seen your kids in two years they’re growing up into their genders &
decent cocaine
white people whipp’d the climate into a right mess
like hens in our own shit.
Silas Curtis
Silas Curtis is a writer and community organiser based in Glasgow, Scotland. He is interested in punk music, activist histories, and de-colonial thought.