Number one, King Pecker Dunne
If Spotify had him, England’d be didded gone inside an hour
Power of sixty minutes each pushing around the circumference of Cronos’ slavery orange
All is aflower
Hours since sense last spoken, sentences rewinding like snagged reels
Reaching pure sentiment, telling everyone how much they mean
Talking about reinstating royal Meath overshoulder whilst I pee
We will a nation be in a cheesy Ronnie Drew voice
Every porter pint I chase with a Powers, glowering cowards around me
Bounders, born in the wrong age, I should have been tall and medieval
I look wrong in an office chair but brilliant in a long hall.
At Puck Fair fucked fairest maiden, ducked mavens many
Raven-headed vixen from Kilkenny
Maybe six and twenty awaiting rescue
Abench across a tent from me, drinking pear Bulmers through straw
Something stuck in my craw
Jaw wants walking like a dog of evening
Walk across, sit over from her, say
Howya love is that a Bulmers?
She says ya
Say you’re gorgeous, love, do you like fingering?
She doesn’t answer but I leave it lingering
Make as if I’m examining the ceiling
Good evening so far
Tis she answers, casting furtive glances
Answers everything monosyllabically
In the beginning was the Word, she said it lethargically
Oh I love this track one of us says.
Heat of her breath next to me light western zephyr breastborn
Sound exhalation, pulmonary opera, Puccini viola alveoli
Heat cascading, coruscating drakeflame, bracing shieldface of One Whom is Like God
One of Homer’s blameless overlooks Kingstown Promenade
Ironic that, sporting a tasteful dragon frieze at roof’s waist, it was once incinerated.
I push my lips to hers, ruby lace girdled purse of pearls unfastened
Ravenous rapturous ensorcellment utter divilment clothes skyward sent like Chinese lanterns
Eyes diaphanous tropical shoreline, reflective, table-flat facet of a magnificent jewel peeking up from pale sand, around rings in Atlantis when thinkers in togas reclined on the ivied stoops of vast recurring fountains
Sight traced to source, eyes inside: in mind fur-clad reaver, taking her further furze fern wild fen, thence to commence lovemaking
Inhaling her breath like a Cumaean inhaling carbon monoxide to induce Hades.
Told me she was divorced, least that’s what I heard
Husband pushes through crowd for his hurting
Pushing me red-cheeked, chest puffed out
Forcing me to puck the head off him
More punch than panto, more bombs than ‘Nam landing
My fists napalm to his Andrex-soft jungle palm cheeks
Fettered by lack of betters, tact-lacking men of letters cannot teach me lessons
Sooner learn calculus from brazzers on newMonto Leeson Street
You’re a one and done pun-spinner, my linnetwing quick jibes smother
Jabs like spiralling sycamore copters groundwisebound
Smother the brazier of the sun, brother
Mayonnaise colour moon mystery mother lights my way through a maze
This wyrm only turns to curl further.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment