Sick from but not of drinking
Sick from and of thinking
I’m sinking pints in a dockside bar
Fog-shrouded far harbour
Between loud sips of lager tales regales us
Of his sea-borne, sea born Father
The man I am named after
He points up to a beam in the rafters
Hangs a portrait of a face, blind eyed
Lined from laughter
He is proud full of swagger, his palaver
Entrances, the pint puller pulls the tap anvil handed
They are enchanted, he is never emptyhanded
The glad tongue will have a fortune wagging and a belt expanded
To gesticulate unhands his dram, spans his arms
Of a sudden my father come alarmed
Loathe to see him crew come to harm
Far from land and warm firegrate, his frigate barnacle backed
Waves tossed as if in mighty storm
Waves tempest-born far out from shore climb the stern and port
Lightning forks, as if in warning
Night with forbidden light adorning
The dim dawning on of some approaching danger
As if the eyes of his head sensed a stranger
He strode from his manger to the deck to descry danger
There, astride the waves, something like a worm
It barrels through the brine, propelled its body turns
Swam up from realms forlorn
By gaseous plumes where imps are born
Where mighty sand buttes rise like horns
And coral statues like men malformed
Before my father something beyond the norm
A thing betwixt, black star spawn
A screaming head which antlers adorn.
Cosmic game in which we are but pawns
New Gods with sliding spiny supine forms
Craving worship in every form
Dire rites to the devil worms
Who clung to life when the world burned
When the flood of Noah evil empires upturned
When ancient rages burnt every lesson learnt, ancient races turned to evil places, earned evil graces, unlearnt what made us
Evil ancient races who mated with fallen angels
The slanted, dripping horizon is.. wrong
Strange forms therethrong
Who can oppose the powers on high
But Abaia’s brides below the tides
Whom Neptune derides in his pride
Who drank Atlantis
Who Doggerland sank
Our new god the gigantic Mantis
Who cults call Oviliank
He hails from a disgusting quadrant
His fleet a squadron of odd gorgons
His quatrains explain nothing, Vogon
They drove on, our drovers
Their moon rovers rove roads
Marked on maps given to the Dogon
Progeny of Dagon, dragonlings and saurians of ages gone.
Alchemisland 
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