Blade Pitch Control Unit: Salt Modern Poets

THE DOMESTIC POEM (2000) cross harbour … walk on. strike softly away from children … It doesn't matter if music's attached … Fast. Victoria to Warren St Mayday There's got to be something … Just going down there to post a letter … Certain young aristocrats … calling all dogs … THE ROSE (2000) pop stars on Holloway Road For Bob, Cobbing Through the Soundhole, Where Cobbing IS NOTES ON HERESY (2000-2001) Tom O'Bedlam Defects in the Structure of the State Lyric Poetry: Surveillance Confessional Poetry Poisons, their Antidotes (2001-2003) The Management Consultant Has Gone for Lunch Paul Verlaine read poems on Old Compton St Expulsions (on Marchmont St with coffee) Poisons, their Antitdotes FILTH SCREED (2003-2004) all poetry that does not … stood … ant sore … sketch … questionable savagery … thin suns bleat … his opened mouth … a lattice of swallow-screech … this is a shop spurt yellow gas … fly track … at 9.38 you hear voices … alembic strip neutral … enabled history on the ant crawl … the details at times are as vague as burn screams … silver burst … the words "we are loyal employees" … I don't … 86 him … 'these' pictures have come in lately … click … glue, magnetized … hold on. does the traffic not worry … Branson's mouth imposed … and he, who want to be adverts … this is a love poem in 42cm … bone sweat … lids flicker … the map of London … survive commerce on … nothing of importance … BURNT NICKLE (2004-2005) morally … we understand … demand protection for sex dolls … social climbing among metals … that the police station as system … consumerism speaks only … on cell wall … Verdict : Oona King DOCUMENT (2005) Filter OD Document Document: No Admittance Document: Suicide Note

These poems are scores for impassioned recitation, burning with a rare urgency and intelligence … They have a raw quality: manic states inscribed in phrases short enough to catch them. Because the poems are written for Bonney's speaking voice, they have an elegant rhythmic flow: this elegance provides a foil for the desperation and violence of the content. -- Ben Watson Poetry Review