Alchemisland

When we’re talking consignment, big business seeking alignment

We parrot like we’re in Paris, which the Seine cuts in half

He says a name I cut him off, he says it again I cut the cost

Costcutter how I cut costs, sanguinary suds coursing, with my draw-blood boxcutter

Did a course in how to become an unstoppable force, forge heat on my greaves

Eye in my forehead that plays my dreams in daytime, leaves scraping across tarmacadam on a breezeless evening, I could easily believe a pale demon stood near to me staring balefully

I could easily believe that fiends more evil than the greened finned things our forest-needing faerie queene brains are keen for

Maybe it was that last key of K I hit, cén fáth only god knows

Brimstone from the pit I know I have imagined colonises the caves above my curling lips

Buck Mulligan how I hold the bowl aloft an intone, my dulcet tones are wavethrown

My throne is a phantom, a pattern writ momentarily on coning foam a handsome boat dashes in its lancing-through, lands on my last chance at gleaning some meaning from this place of stolen zeal and self-peeling

The balm of unlife is too easy but so appealing, one apple I cannot refuse when he proffers it

Knows I prefer to pocket the money before counting it out of social nicety, he takes advantage violently and keeps it shorter weekly, first two then three then six until one week the envelope looks like an Olsen Twin’s wrist

I ask him what the fuck is this?

Asking for more like I’m Oliver Twist

Twist his arm up his back, spin him and kick his teeth, dick and inner legs

Fouled his organs, Ulysses if you please

Charles Dickens how I survive a traincrash unharmed, tarp over the other passengers while I’m targeting which train gets me home fastest to Battersea

I was passionate until battle quenched me, I fought at Passchendaele

I found the golden holy grail at the bottom of my garden and it was empty

I found a cloven horn of plenty with not enough crumbs for a pigeon’s tea 

Policeman says of me quelle polisson

I blend the crowd chameleon, I blend the strain a greenerman

On the phone like the Simon Community

When the plane comes down I’m at Ballyshannon in a plain van wearing a bally

Up high and white I’m the lily of the valley

I’m coffee of the poppy, shot up down the alley