You’ll get burst like a sat-on capri sun, son
Manna take Quake lift same time man’ll get gibbed
Ribbed for her pleasure apt for Eve ripped from ribs
Idle heart hardens the walled garden a grim gaol, the son of Mary Arden
Steelhelm points conducting frost deep in the Ardennes, a tank track trench to kip in
Passing a lake with bodies and vehicles below, don’t slip or you’ll fall in, menacing grin
Leans in, cigarette scolding index fingering outta the box, crop eared cop out sort
His close shorn locks the shock of his head; it’d more missing bits than a Synagogue
Two-headed wolfmen abort the worldchild, the best hide, the worst rise unchided
Undefied the right rise, all rise and court adjourned like a dunk made a well
He scratches his cock through his Khaki, think Daddy should have smacked ye
I was a farmer, a horse wrangler, a woodsman, then foreman in an arms factory
I’ve been big within the party circle since early thirty three
Incidentally, a vile number, do you know about masonry?
Well, let me educate you, ewe, it’s byword for Jew
Internally I roll my eyes and focus on the good he’s done
The smoke at hand, the bloke at ear is having his own fun
But this ain’t microwave popcorn, Klaus, I say when it’s done
You’re lending me a nasty earache, avert your lips off, son
Else you’ll find a fist for tongue’s sake place what never saw the sun
Try to ignore him but bastard’s attached, he shakes another from the box
Sorta gob that O’s perfect around a gat.
I never write brasher than when I’m mashed, it makes you feel apart
Just you and islands of space to fill
What you say is your heart is your mind, my intention wallies; his redoubt even God cannot find
In the parp-bottomed pootle car on the Raglan Road of the mind
Driving to the yestermonths, couple-coloured times of year fade from my rearview like my hit and run victims
Dark hollow I have not escaped to in ages, not as comfortable as I remember
Here a sealed door’s padlock leaps up and smacks down like a knocker without provocation
Prevaricating over this I feel the key tattooing my clenched fist.
Mist but not from Avalon (the author abused children, Babylon and on and on, old song of Solomon.)
Question-loomer the moon humours day favourers, homebound labourers homebrew capers and ceoil craic in the shibeen wishing midnight’d be eighteen the next evening
Steaming drunk they drive some, others walk wake dreaming the narrow lanes
Like blind men they strove forward and measured by feeling
Often they stopped at gates to stare, to drink a quotient of that drink so rare, quare strong and your life won’t be long
Tell the horseman I’ll soon be along
Drive by cast a cold eye, Yeats on his skates his bow bend the achieve of, Maude bounced she’s Gonne
At those selfsame gates the unknown greats, grates to stop tractors sinking like ladders to places within
Their unread poems, odes full of moaning and description of oaks and how multitiduous their folks and foes and the true Irish name of the magic roads, and the first song that Amergin’s doe sang from the coast
Beloved of Apollo are the poems nobody knows, shy to show stanzas languishing in desk drawers alongside unwanted gifts from work colleagues and daily tasklists so short they had to be excised underbiro and made to disappear like the names of heretics
Here are thicks with king crisp gilded fingers, yet poetry reads them to gives them gifts
Great gabs, good gas, glad to gargle, gregarious
Men with names like PJ and Declan wrote songs to the moon
Men of Ireland adore goddesses, mammy lovers to the apple eve core of us
Dinny another name they have in those parts
Said they of the moon:
a great silver tumour, a most mercury-soaked tuna, a petri dish of mithril-streaked hair conditioner settling into sandy zig zags, a blind eye wide.
Wordstrewn walls of my old hollow, meaning-strewn the room, Daniel could neither discern nor divine divine dimensions in the words
Yet
Meaning
Hidden yes, like a child at play
Your mouth is like a burnt rasher
Gums like blacked up fat
Teeth few and far between, spaced like opposing flats
If he had a hat for every tooth, he would have two noble hats
That did the work of thirty two, ask your dentist for that maths.
Annie’s joined a cult and won’t stop operating thetan
Simon’s infiltrated them, he says they worship satan
Annie’s throat been cut, slit gut to gizzard mayhem
Simon’s had his fill of Anne, cave he maledicts in
My little hollow where I go is coated with me, I am wallpapered here, superfan corkboard.
Alchemisland 
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