Alchemisland

Immaculate bedside manner he’s a doctor

Impenetrable mask of the eternal imposter

Quality’s foster-child

A smile full of guile

I’ve got the strength of eight dockers

I’m lopping heads, docking points 

Sure as Chris Barnes got worse when he grew dreads

Sure as any little thing will cause flame wars on Threads

Sure as architects of conspiracies are in dire need of meds

Sure as battlefields bloom poppies in the jaws of the dead

Sure as Crimson Sky a new Shogun anoints

The ones I throw will be slobberknockers

I chuck them out of my trench still hot

The night is a goth, moody and wroth

Rococo tableau of heaven’s vault, oft sought by seekers

Milkflow galaxy orinocoing across the sirocco-hot sunfront

Night a vast storefront, my cold front belies ardent fires.

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I’ve got stamina for teethpulling, ultramarathon man Sparta from Thermopylae I ran with spear brandished

Ravished ravaged famished I deliver my message despite damage

I always manage it, like family planning I’ve got processes and pamphlets

Certified I am Bedlam’s best, Gothamesque silhouettes where they tried to confine me

Before leaving I unlocked John Clare’s cell door, once looked him o’er that shipwrecked scrawler

The vast trawler gored by rocks, holes in mind like holes in socks

Holes in hedges where he docked himself, imagined defrocked nyads amidst foxgloves knocking

Shored up now every hedge a wall, every wall a cell

Each tree a phone pole, every field one soon to sell.