A sense of refined chaos, as if your fathers jam jar, full of screws and nails and picture hooks had been scattered on the floor, over an ordnance survey map of Lincolnshire and beyond
There was a plan, and a classy catalogue
Even so, as an exercise in disorientation
It was fabulously successful
Guys in high-leg turned over leather boots
A sop to the roundheads
Or the cavaliers
Street scenes layered with a palette knife
To lift the slippery sloppy pavement
From the oily doily canvas
Unreeled cassette tape is nailed to the wall
A loop-less but continuous story
With the obligatory I don't give a fuck
