Down a trainless station waiting bacon tooled up
Tonight’s big bust up, everything fussing, men fucked up to get brave
Big cutters wired up to packs, serrated blades like fern fronds
Gnashing teeth with Hope diamond strength, like a drip rapper eating you alive,
Something to combat Their terrifying ferrousity, those iron brutes.
Cadre of steel pimps, harem of erotic blenders with customisable pleasure dials and voice settings.
Riding out, emcee lionises instant death, neurasthenia inducing breakbeat
Sallying the gardenless backroads, gapless turnless cisroads to cesslands.
Slim passes, vast laybys like dogger’s dreams which feel haunted to everyone
There are no other vehicles, wondering have they left time
No nervous tittering in the APCs, Saturn not one for ribaldries
Silence for a time, tour of old murders, haunts and hollows choked with gang dead
Bandanas like polyester brands
Mounds off the main, pus filled boils fit to burst at the slightest, freeing miasms
Obese with congealment, alchemy of the midden, rise of the cackbergs
Sewers unfit for purpose, ill with plastic
Rivers of hardening menses bursting forth and fountaining violent umbrellas
To stave off horridity and putrefaction, realmabundant
Everyone in the kingdom must participate in the King’s new masque
Terrifying results of vast necromantic spell, stoving the heads, redeading the tubercular children returned.
Distant bass wobbling the hood, clods leaping up from the road
Signs everywhere, graffiti which initiates decode, twilight language of romantic american vagabond
Bidden by rhythms vast subterranean raves issue, twenty below like giant’s graves
Infamous projects breeding sedition, no flinching at the siren sound like plugged Ulysses
Training kicks in he trains his sights, solar scope dispelling night, in every corner danger sees
Their pulling up provokes choke dust to mushroom by the wheels
Chorus of distant guns priming, the wiley captain steels
Buzzing cutters brandished, scabbards with empty nest syndrome
Dust ghosting all around them; Dust, the peace of Rome
A piece of Rome at each of their necks, light golden touch against the spread legs of veeing collarbones
Their sword sounds like oncoming wasps sew alarm, the sound of movement at twenty paces
To off a bot keep a sure shot, before target lock ensures your holes are hot
Using a scroll wheel at his temple, he cycles through the light like a day tripper, pausing on a washed out St. Patrick’s Day green
Greened as false alchemy, the shamrock night’s ambient terrors are no longer bodiless
Way a shot man flounders like a fish, gawping to reclaim the air escaping his punctures
Way he bucks like a grappler mounted, at invisible death throwing kicks and punches
Life tightening in on itself, tiny mote of light surrounded and surrendering; slack cincture
Not so when a robot is hit, alloys longing out for lead, straight line mouths for bullet lunches
Bacon’s scarlet beam paints on bounty’s brow Arcturus
The target a target any target in his sights, he lines sights like itinerary following
Open space a lure he breasts a chest high wall. Signs: a child’s wailing on the wind then a woman sings.
Bascule of his fingers downs, c’mons, troop eyes the sky like at Mons
Out of cover springs, springs wires chains on cogs, eschatological pedagogues
In dismal cages, frothing chimaeras of iron, fur and teeth, blasphemous stieldogs
Creatures which creation denies, at war with the universe dancing with itself
Catches it, no clunch in it, bagged sure as a hit man shitself
Steaming cartridge vaults then stars down to Earth, gold capped Icarus
Neon bar sign for Delos, operational omphalos
Runs crank and pimps human women
Two metal hands count money inside a bible-wallpapered side office
Pages describing heavenly beings coming unto the daughters of man
Seeing lice like a careless farmer; spies police, raises larma
Bullets concert the length of the square, packed audiences and scathing reviews
Makes his head the yoyo, bends it and forward rolls, springs with his hands, winters with his blade
Men who work for robots, kerosened the bronzemad fiends
Robot amount exceeding, Shaver Mystery feeling
Two robots emerge from a lane, one is hit
Other fain to run long like poulaine, shoots down a sideway as bullets from four ways eat sideways, where he stood is sent fiveways
Down that dull lane a clinic for murrains terminal
Small thing growing inside her, is but cannot be, schrodinger’s germinal
The afflicted, their self inflicteds ill depicted in the press; the scene depresses.
Hard to repress it, They will reprint it, her prince will go printless, no inn for a princess
Flesh old pain palimpsest, flesh a dry towel all good wrung from it
No room for machincest
Cap is after him like he’s coming next but profound stinging from his volar plex
Looking down sees his foot spiked through, Lancastrian gardens rosethorn sex
His stolen focus attending his agony’s locus, his pussing strider
Foot down like he’s giving gas, his sliced slider leaks ichor, in plain sight horseless rider
Snapshots what came before and what won’t be, cottage small orchard rewilded farm
That same bot reemerges heavily armed, Cap with no time for alarm is done harm
His shelled up eggshell shirt turning red, makes a tudor rose
To fall again chewed up Cap arose
Like Lucifer who starred morning brang
Another. Whoosh his cutter, revolution of its teeth against plate clang
Rending squealing desperate sturm and drang
Bromides in his Captain’s ear, courageous boons to ease his fear
Solemn guard, full honours, well liked and well articulated by peers and subordinates
Weeping, widow decries mortal ineffability of divine plan
Tearfully points to a stained glass lamb, could He not arrange a kain
In place of her beloved, every syllable terse with pain
Fortune’s vicissitudes, how unlikely seem oncoming tragedies, forever after obvious
Alchemisland 
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