Tell us about your afterwork: 


I am sat beneath trade and its vagaries

I am vagrant trade, 

Careening out of noise, or,

My shining economic exoskeleton. 

I’m joined by trade, 

Point to point at the hip

We are so inherently handholding…… 


My lines are continuously adjusted, we’re

Muttering outside a pub so upwardly mobile.

I am chasing something downwards, and in turn

I am an entered-Coutts creature with

A strange and sordid habit. 


Me and my suit at the end of the night

We’re folded at victoria station.

I am unable to be analysed, for, 

My algorithm is so saturated 

Expansive rumbaba brain I am

Vomiting over my fine, supple silk.


Another point was on the platform-

A callus-

It approached my back and thumped me

Assessing my threadcount with its worked-palms. 

I had to go, 

Get the last approaching train back somewhere SW

One of the claphams (?)


I left it, still doubled over,

My Suit cant compare to its gown, 

My gown can’t compare to its suit. 


I’m sick all over the platform.