Joseph Minden

But people actually 
          liked living there
and that’s the pint I’ve
          lost my tuppence in 
what is Prince Charles   
on the corner
          every morning paper 
open royal
          and spread butter with 
your self-
pork chop palimpsest 
          about a 
hidden quote
          a block cut smooth
or good stone house
          or don’t the Tudors
just know it or
Brannigans just
          comfortable discredit 
my hobbit hole 
          how dare you 
when the architecture
          of lament is far
more easily blown up       
          by high money 
celebrity surrender
          star of crumbling         
          those thin Moneo poles
in Logrono 
          quoting Phantom
Tolbooth palaces
          Palladio smoothsides
Palazzo Chiericati
          slidings for infinite
invisible firemen
          discovery of 
cars everywhere
          I have just looked  
round something like         
          the so-called
London Orbital
          the horror of it is
          horses doped and
bluebell-drooping cattle
          crushed with sadness 
concrete wingbones
          on the fly away
I never knew
          how to wear 
before Robin Hood 
          in his 15th century
ballad bivouac 
          not comfortable 
but dandelions abound
          and builded then
a fire station here
          in order for the
stencilled flames
          to march out
          like their cardboard 
          I was feeling with that
famished colonnade 
          precisely what 
I think you 
          talked of when
the gates of Dorset 
          closed behind me
and I found 
          of all routes
out of Eden
          Berlin lost
and a child
          under the Sony Centre        
that Mount Fuji
          of curtailed attention
Potsdamer Platz
          rebuilt for cars
to make assembly
          impossible while
          lost stereo
pearl of the orient
          no Matjes Brötchen
in the whole damn ice   
          yourself insect-like
gathered on
          the human hand
so Brian came
          by towers
of lager pure
          woke skew-whiff
in bed in Wilmersdorf 
          a cartoon of milk
up a chain link steeple
          black coffee
and went to salute
          Peter Behrens’
          turbine factory
          what what 
Dorset input
          these villeins
in the field around 
          they have not even
heard of a factory
          making turbines like
bolts in the neck
          and went to salute
and this is where
          the thickens plot
went to salute
what a practical 
          fascist punchline
botanizing the flash-      
eyebeams two straws
          thin poles down which
sight slides like
          Fireman Sam
who might I add
          is cousins Pat
who posts
          the cheese dales
Hovis advert
          Duchy butter
into children
          gliding with 
transparent yield
          into the pond
honeyed knobs
          of carp about
moving in flash
          and bluntly
and with Brian 
          Potsdam get some
Dunkin Donuts
          look at some Schinkel
lines and proportion 
          Rudolf Hess fading
with the therapists
          of three languages
          Red Arrows fork
into language teachers
Carsten Plog und then 
in his office
          already pointing to
          a diagram of
skyscrapers builded
          better on the GDR
plot inverse Stasi
          with Brian in Dorset
is that Maiden
          Castle over your 
          or are you just 
pleased to see me
          for most of the day
it sits 
          in shade of 
chestnut tree
an olive rather
          flat dog-whistle
and classical 
          in dust
stern Platz
          denial when you look in 
der Spiegel
          like a pool reflecting 
you sir 

with usura hath no man
          a house of good stone

          each block cut smooth
and well fitting

that design might cover
          their face

          and face recede
like falling man
          and silver surface
still above it
          that’s Pound 
-bury alright 
          hope up
          smooth and
also pilaster 
advent to where
          cars are forced
to slow by roundabouts
          no assembly
but nuclear evacuation 
          tiny end of 
          you’re sweating
flooding to meet
          the wildfire but
the oceans are
          too big between 
and Poundbury 
          a dream
we cannot go 
          Brian and I 
mope to the shop
          to buy pork
chops if a butchers 
          or candlesticks
          well if
is a big word
          Poundbury is how
the prince shows
          love mapping
my dreams to his
          and what is
under the buildings
          wherever you go
wherever you look 
          clogged soil and
fragments of iambic 
          column axe heads
for the lifeboat hands
          and the shock is
buildings have
          roots like eyebeams
in the pool 
          of memories 
no matter
          the order
and they are 
          when you listen
then rabbiting 
          then singing
          a German jew
sociologist of note
          left Charlottenberg 
husband destructed at
          a shotgun end
his head arcade
          staked round with
too-thin poles
blown big
          they line up now
the coffin draped 
          the cardboard
firemen in a line
          a little wee drummer
intending to camp
          and curt tents
went up like
          this Platz
Brian and I attend
          coy discourse
in each ear
          and in each ear
a solo face
          detached from its
          and fallen into pewter        
          and found 
dredging the pool
          downing the glass
errant reflection
you got me