Alchemisland

I need something spun with leaves

I need a green dress for the evening

Something freeing

I need a keen wrist seamstress to weave this glas dress

Do justice to these descriptors

I might wear a glassen slipper

I’m hoping to get off with a prince, pass and own a dutchy

Looking to make past tense my time without the palace

I’m hiding panties in the pantry as a form of black magic

I’m at the IRA meeting chatting to Enya

Everyone’s here; there’s the deli guy from Centra

He was born Delgany, expected from the rebel county

Ireland’s garden and guardian

Make me a dress of nature

Dress with green my red aggressive nature

I am often untethered, speaking my wall into Hell with every breath.