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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.

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