I’m the type people call for reference
Wise beyond so my name is reverenced
Often mentioned, next dimension, attention demanded like you got remanded detention
Declension of verbs, a third of mine are heard and all of them are future lured
Your verbs are like left turns that bring you home every time, all tense and all past tense
Inured to the words of nerds like you, barnyard feed.
Got 20 marlboros, half of them donated for joint rolling
Bong like detonated a mind bomb, another voice stole in
Garda patrolling smelled green petroleum, collars just one
The rest scarper, run through jungle, grunt and struggle out to Scarborough Fair
Thyme enough at last, led that lad around a windlass
Top of the class at the siren dash, even when I’m mashed
Back to Windy Arbour
Smash through the thicket like he asked and I’d no ticket, Ballaly barber
We pass it quickly, ding the leap and we’re gone.
More plants than the Airfield farmers
More paths than the pathfinders, a Gard could not divine where I shrine my green vines
It takes a green mind
Bollocks in the bush but raised right, give up my seat
To the needy, we’re only going three, yeet
Off it and ding dinger again, walking past the school fence
Remembering all the L’s and F’s
If I had two pence for every person who said I’d got no sense, I’d since have spent it
On pick n’ mix, we round the bend and cross the green the stream
Flows through, Costcutter cans of Strongbow my wall piss a strong flow
Give anything a go as long as I’ll be good at it
Hoods up like the rain’s lashing, looming in alleys like a crack addict
Craic in my diction, my fiction an admix of truth or fiction, affixing
My greatness to an image I created for the faithless
To drape wishes on, I smile like a Smilodon all tooth
I’m at Troy as a Myrmidon in my mind’s eye, warrior, forsooth.
Dog off the leash unleashing the beast
Law’s lease on me loose because I’m greased
Increased my worth, wroth to do work, never lift a finger
I’m heading home for chipper dinner
Down the block I can smell the vinegar
I’m a white swan now but came up as a minger
End of a chicken zinger left in the box for the foxes
My chops are stuffed, I’ve had enough, upstairs in me boxers
Boxing the head off problems in the mirror, box
I keep my weed in needs sealant to keep the stench pinned
Get three skins but instead do a thin pinner, like a vogue in a dilettante’s finger
Scent lingers long after until I spray Lynx everywhere, King
Of Queens repeats beam out on Paramount TV
Afterwards Trading Places is on again
Wish I could trade places, roll again
To make me faceless, desire only placelessness
Smoked so much even someone who got my platelets donated
Would be liable to become a chronic-huffing satanist
Chain smoking again lately
Won’t be found until long after, Layne Staley
Nothing stately in going stale
Most went stateside and I stayed in the Pale.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment