Twisted over pots in the grow, plants really growing out
Illegal overseeing the operation, hands me a pouch
I take a shrón, homegrown’s best ask Brennan’s, on nose
Like pre-prom zits, as tradit, hitting as I admire the mirror
Or a crusty’s septum ring coke-riddled Obscene Extreme Festival
Ask the sitter what he needs to last until Wednesday; Wotan’s Day
He points to a pile of dog-eared magazines, needs better literature
Back in his home country he was a history professor, specialising
In Elizabethan England, tingling hearing new tea about John Dee
The keys on my ring, either Enochian or Solomonic
Going clear, spent 3 years in Burroughs’ orgone accumulator.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment