Alchemisland

Cruel gangs bisect the turf

Skinahans lot in the Beacon South Quarter

Scartel everything between Aungier Street and the Liberty Stone

Liberated from a Church Normandy named, sitting before boss’ throne

A symbol to which fealty is offered

Young lads swearing they have no skin in the game

Cheffed up, found eyeless, no skin hung on their frame

Acting out scenes from antique myth, moments of singular treachery

To curry sympathetic favour from unutterably named duppies

In communion with the egregores of convened schizophrenics

Mass meeting of maimed minds that should be in a nick

Today’s the day the bears won’t take a picnic

Ill-minded conventions in the night-tarred wood

Thought our future was Jetsons, more like Steptoe and Son

Shade is a mask, kick push steel toe and run

Young mother assaulted en route home from second shift

Tries running but a pistol fix sits her, like Galilean flesh whipped

A round, cheeks like ten rounds, ragged a ripped shirt rapidly reddens, eyes deaden hers and theirs, head back tipped

To quench the bleed, drip drip drip gorehot

Shot selection the grafter’s thrift, reach for the pepper but notions stripped

Into stomach elbow back like a stick shift, bag upturned then bouncing swift

Speeding I’m not bewaring ides it’s near eventides 

Toward hiding striding the sun, whom night derides

Such speed the blurring sides warp as it slides

My phone shaking like Caesar, in need geezer

Checking the name eyes rolling, this retard

Steam issuing from grate, not Tsar, down my phone “I’m not far”

One lousy signal bar spits it out “I nfr’ red phone button disregard

Tonight’s vesper screeching donuts in test car

Tomorrow’s run, blood colour from factories that jamjars the sun

Night’s dread core when the day seems far, locks that should always stay locked are undone