One among us
32 rungs up Jacob’s Ladder
Rum-drunk gin junkie in sulky cups, his sullen sulcus sodden
A silenus in wanton
His ruddy complexion a lumpy, bumpy skein of dinosaur hide
Trapped in the Montana Sand
Sixty five million yeas before Christ died, lying waiting.
His tapering nose alike an awl
Encompassing his own death by drink
In combating his own health, both shell-struck and shell-sender
Shellshocked I think not but he’s too locked to knock boots
Locked the poteen shed, but he got in through the roof
He lowered down to the still, once on every hill, like an impossible mission.
He surpasses base drunkenness, attaining the ere-inebriation of a sage
The pages of his life, constrained here as it was, are stained
Being broke makes him a vampire, drinking what’s in his own veins
A wife whom he despises and whom despises him
She will be paid when he dies, yet dismayed; melting ice
She says William you are a fool and a king of tin cup
With your tin whistle and your old tin tinker’s cup
Playing slip jigs and bonny reels for bits of sup.
On the Sabbath back pew a savage outside God’s view
His gaitless tattoo, a stumbler over more than thresholds
He is translated anew in puce and mauve light
Stained glass casements showing deranged ends of saints
Myroblites tonsured, silent in ardour
Priding torture, with utter religious certainty.
He tosses aside dealt cards, melting to revel
Sings not two words of Óró Sé before
Barman hoarsely orders “give up the goat”
He will not refuse coin though, bathes the throat
Drink takes him like a flamethrower does flesh
Claims him quickly and utterly, enflames
Every angel-paid inch of himself, insane
Surfeits of pleasure flooding his circuits
They watch his circus, laughing
They fill his chalice, gladly
Provided he has cash to hand, yourself good man
All of them handwashers, overlong by the lavabo
Thick lather coating to remove guilt’s quotient
White robes painted over oncebloodied, guilty hellgoer.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment