Alchemisland

Chicks when they see me thinking dwarven verbs, dig it

Even a male officer doesn’t give me a ticket

Or even offer reprimand, before he leaves takes my hand kisses it

Paying lip service to my responsibilities, thinking about poems and smoking weed

My head abounds with pastures greener, plots of thought-thieving trees, sort I need

Wanna be a country gent in jodhpurs, strides and a tweed jacket

Out hunting all night, cocked in elbow Doom’s super shotgun, Elmer Fudd

I only need to shoot once

Country living magazine fetish gave me a country living fantasy

All my dreams are cottagecore, I want the barn, the old boundary wall

Oak and ash, lichened all, listen all and sundry

I must have a place in the country

If that part of writing which exercises from a self in some selfish secret act of summoning

Let that be what comes of it, a bit of green around a bit of property

Acreage for ages, to make my name in

A place to grace me with creative amazement.