Alchemisland

Entering town, sign reads SLOW

Zone for inspection

Hungry feeds in my mentions

Unmentionable weed

In my wheel well’s dimension 

A little something white as a denture

As a dead duck’s neck, as a tudor ruff

As a bleached dove

I tossed a prayer to the lord above

Hope the fuzz can’t smell my shrubs

Simon says opposite

Sirens and officers

Stop me so I ran 

Through the civic offices

Can’t stop me, even wearing docs 

Pockets full of leaf 

I can’t get stung with doctor doc leaf

Irish interlocutor

Can’t lock up the locksmith  

Pulling in to get it dyed

Bring a four star to a five, not talking pizza slice 

Full throttle pushes us into speed warp

Lieutenant Worf reporting with the Mars Bar forehead

Way I strike loose with my trident, style tested try it

Would have thought you got gored by a forklift

Dripped out on budget, cheap but ostentatious, known for thrift

I’m dressed like an aristocrat, leader of old nations, slip

Into something delicious that someone surely died in

Shining things looking like diamonds, a tie pin, copy of Tai Pan; total, fiver

Getting rhinestoned and finesuited, cowboy boots like you were Unforgiven too

In the Sue Ryder foundation, hotter than the house of Satan, no eircode

That’s why they’re lost souls, shoes lost soles on an endless nowhere road

Building famine follies eating ham sambos out the back of Frawley’s lounge

Hearing sounds from around the back of the workhouse, like drowning animals

My suit and boots enamel coloured, step out of the boot elephant ivory muddled

Got midtiers muttering, so much drip I flood the ring, Colosseum with sailing ships

Bread and circus, but then there’s this

Crossing the Rubicon in the early morning mist

My path a solved rubik’s cube, click into place labyrinth path seems to move

Computing over a box like the Hellraiser movie, raising amazing hell is my duty

Prefer boxing over glocks, pop you if you’re wearing white lace Docs

Marten of the pine scrying for carrion scraps, watching scarring Farthing Wood crying

I’m doing lines in the BBC bathroom with Simon Farnaby, counter’s cold

We’re doing prank calls on Toby Jones, smoking old toby feeling bold

Neural equivalent of doxxing these poem toxins

Hips swivelling once I get docked, the cocks in

Headboard rocking, neighbour’s angrily knocking

Cock hard as an old Nokia, chamber like a knocking shop 

Pop off like a rag week naggin top, my climax is a Mike drop

Arms aloft at the stairtop like Rocky, even Apollo couldn’t rock me

Chin is like a rock at Gibraltar, and it can’t be altered, your hits are awful

I hit you so hard in the balls, it bruises the forehead of your daughter

I have my top off and she stares as if I have no mask, Hockey

Transitioning to the talkies is when I walk, wallet like Hockney’s

I’m decked out in dazzling rubies making imperial moves

It only wounds me if it’s Brutus, what’s with the romans and the Judas

Silver thirty pieces but I’ve got degrees increasing way past thirty tree

Dead at that age, per the creed

Gutshot had you stumbling back a foot

Three kingdoms wave-bound, Cnut

Shadow over the land, hooded sun

Ask me to hand it over, foot it and run

Dropping the loot and lucre back at the grotto

I can’t jump in the sea, can drive this copper’s helicopter; grand theft auto

Mutton in the oven 

Smothered with love, and butter 

Around the table, sitting closely

Eating coven monthly meeting 

Ask a neighbour how they’re keeping 

Can see he’s seething, teething pains

Invite myself into what I know is his seat

He makes the tea and when he tries to converse with me

I hit the desist and cease, dust everywhere in here like I fisted the deceased

Refuse a tray of biscuits and an after eight treat, but he’s insistent, lips it

I speak careful and considered, what my lips deliver is much policed before release

Moving slow like a man on parole, seeing how it go, letting you go on drolly

Blink to stop my eyes rolling, enmity between us growing like a June fuschia 

I don’t see a future, singing different tunes, town is not big enough for two

Feel abused at my selfishness, saying music’s too loud; they should never hear the lyrics

Gaze I fix him would have thought I was a gorgon, petrifying sight organ

This isn’t the king of Tory, this is the all-glory saracen of Stillorgan

I’ll still your organ with force, make your kids orphans, force open the till

Clearly the street boss, killing releases my endorphins, shore drinks the swill.