Alchemisland

So many rats tramping in ranks behind me they call me Hamlin

When I turn nib devil sparks fly like too many plugs jammed in

The line the floor like plaguebearing lino

I’m Cain neither lido nor coco, float cheek and get cutthroat

When the donetalking are brokenosed my loaf flows bring bros low

I’m planning levellings, more falling towers than a tarot deck

More mind noise than a mystic

Had prior choice but I missed it

No priors I’m chickshit, no liars

Jones’ Diary I’m chicklit, it’s not england it’s a liar’s city the Spire rides up to god’s titty

Trouble doubling in Dublin, the liffey bubbles like boiling black tar the spoonback vantablack

The lodge beside the passport office, the bulging envelopes change hands 

The sleeper sleeps everdwells in nod, the initiate at Hod while waking dreamer lives his wants, makes willthings of the land

More towering infernos than a flame stack comp

On the factory floor broke more boxes than a wumpa fruit addict

What’s he building in there, I’ve heard hums from the black attic like a pirate radio station

The lads taking regular bumps, the blood pumps like a puma hunting, kicking lumps like the target has mumps

Every target must have no mum, I go completely numb like I gummed some stuff

Gun into mouth I stuff like my marine corps girlfriend said she likes it rough

I bump off more than targets so men call me dodgem, I’m fair grand, few grand in the pack and more rides around me than fairground eve

You’re at funderland and I’m underland, more tracks than cacked underpants

I’m underhand only when the hand takes communion

When you bite the feeder it’s the hand cheek reunion

Victories become commonplace, my winning is a ritual and my need to win outweighs my needs for victuals

My eyes are jewels and my pen alchemises grey into gold, I coax sun from the cold and youth from the old.

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I’ve sold more souls than an insole maker

I’ve fucked more maenads than a lustful satyr

I’ve cooked more grenades than an ask questions later

Type, O negative internal monologue; who needs a traitor

When you’ve got death drives, self hates and self destructive traits

More appetites than Axl’s finest, more cars that’s tight with axel shining

Ezekiel could not match my wheels for coruscating

Takes bends neat like an iceskater, never bends knee to a chasing station boy

When I go down it’s beyond the navel, down nearer to Fermoy

Ferment my moustache with her moistness, it’s never too late late

Her bedside locker is like the Toy Show, more fuck than Tubridy’s lawyer’s voice notes

Half of her is precious like a can of dutch gold, Another part vicious, cut to the quick, ice cold

My convection currents produce obsessions and she hits heretofore hardtohit high notes

The music is on but she’s Sean Nos when she’s screaming, creaming like a melting ice burger

My mind is like an iceberg, even its tip is enough to split unsinkable ships

Depths where even Cthulhu won’t go or toe dip, home of the loosed lipped

I’m only rednecked after noose slips, bedsheets in your death grips

Your verses are like AI penned scripts, scraps of shitted bogroll I wouldn’t use to wipe up piss

I have more steady rock than bebop, more shredder than tax office

I like skinny birds but I’ve had dimensional ex

I’m married now but had premarital sex

I’m no dark crystal puppet, never call me a skex

You’re a head from the henson library that people bribe to go away

I am the full cheeked wind father, you’re the shade-a that’s in my gaoith

The shadow that blocks my way, the leaf that in my gale will sway

When I regale them they turn pale as frightened infants, skyrocketing sales

When you assail them it offends them, they turn tail and brand F to fail you

When vexed I maledict and my tongue flicks quick hexes

I make quick exits, quick exes of my present tenses

My pretences fall away once I’ve had the princess

I’ve seen peach in panties and Mario’s clueless

He’s got a fire flower but I’ve seen fire on a Luas

We’ve got more red cows than a slaughterhouse

We’ve got more field experience than a fieldmouse

You have an online experience, your hand on the mouse

I have an outer experience, soul looks down on the house

I’m like your cinema projector for the astral, I lie down relax with my mantras and ad astra.

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I mark God’s presence better than any incense censer

I’m a nag from the waist down, your short ruler wasted 

No, neither censor nor censure assures my silence

Slept more folk than Mattress Mick, prone to violence

Morningtime the smell of sick hits you like a expired stick down Grafton Street

I’m fleeter than Fleet Street my Niked feet kick up road steam

The great only appear great because we are on our knees

An island of very willful men ringed by radioactive seas

We sell fields to Yanks then yank them back

We got born-addict kids breastfeeding smack

It’s the morn again and I wish I was born again

Look at porn again, what’s coming beyond our ken

Not quite round the twist but drive round the bend

Neither borrower nor lender be, until I need a lend.