• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 12
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They put a coin in my heart
I exchanged it for riots,
Rosa Luxemburg
Karl Marx –
all my cloned lapwings –
there's no money in this art
no art in money,
the silver coin is the navel of the dagger
– an exchange rate for malefactors –
the crabs in red amulets, like chief executives,
live on land or sea,
as they pass they execute their bypass with their claws
in swirled pools at my feet,
this body that owns its volta
explodes downwards
– decrowns the earth –
where I found a feather at Tower Bridge :
it was the quil of Sir Walter Raleigh,
I used it to spoil my ballot,
to bait my spooled shoal,
I had a sea-change when all horizons cleared :

the sea-change lapsed when I got to land