No minging SIPTU yet
Buildings in situ since age knows who
Cén aois thú?
Since poulaine boots sought thingmote justice, since ringforts.
Cornmarket in view, take left to but never take a Liberty
Homeless wretch jellied gums in climes gelid stitchless atishoos
Cold knotting around filth-berotted neck a firmly noose
Got pox in Monto knocking shop, leek rot
Drinking red biddy from an Ovaltine tin
Cat-scratched logos fragmentary
Peeling aluminium mirror revealing
Silkenbeard’s minted orichalks funding spraois many
Doon Winetavern Street.
Boreas lung-width akin a Nebuchadnezzar who never
Would spite fair Euronyme
For wind like an Orthrus though fierce in fang but follows
We think it willed but it comes anyway, like pangs with hunger.
Trod upon
Long awaiting service, longer awaiting surplus
Sporting: vile incurable sores, ulcers, flux, consumption
Tired-eyed families having day’s trials triumphed sit in conserving silence
Girdling sawing barrel fires in rust-strewn atrium workyards, quiet
Drying whites billow silent pliant dryads
Skinshifting phantoms phasing defiant on stringlines
Singing long mournful songs to smother hunger
Purging dirges learnt from iron grandmothers.
Aul ones who in childhood battened hatches
As gales battered thatches and summoned tumult greedily
Stirring debris barging vengefully
Eating verdant fields, venerated trees
Vital eaves keeping churches steely vertical
Turbulence travelling Tubber to Dublin
Destruction’s seeds encircling four green fields
Stealing praties from seaweed-fed lazy beds on mountain slopes
Like shrines to Poseidon who is Mannanan on that island
His wife Fond, frond-crowned, comes pounding down a feathered comet
Like a diving halcyon into a dicing Atlantic where Iberian Armadas
And Atlantis hide, a licentious hellion sent here
Hassling heroes from their better ends
Night of big wind memory State pension accedes.
Dervish whirling windstirred earth
Dirt swirling feet shoeless soled teak black
Mothers with veined, dustgiving breasts younger than they look
Swaddle youngins, wee youngflas wizened by trial
Come in off cold street, seats far from altar, favour and exaltation
Hard-faced priest exhales, arms aloft
Impaled by roseate light, talking of exiles
They come for shelter, for warmth
For preoccupation, from habit, and for ratiocination
Rats crowding their midden will sate on biscuits
Puddling dangerous piddle on childer’s pillows
On clean grills and in hung girdle pockets.
At home a little girl with fluxing pox
Not expected to see Christmas
Sits, dirt-frocked, a sunlit rocking chair, solar box
Lank strands thinning flaxen hair framing face gaunt
Infant maven requires urgent saving
Born to a cot grave by insidious demiurge.
Alchemisland 
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