Alchemisland

Luniz in the Nikes making five fifty when he tastes

Cave, space tight as an unclaimed maidenhead

Phantom of the Opera is lit, old Maiden Head

Give these powerslaves a piece of my mind

Scots in session, like give my head peace on trial

England weakening, Scottish intercession, long lines of highlandmen

Filled with extra venom having voted no to independence

Stone of Scone pict it up, Ska, England’s throne lift it up, cast

Into the sea, they didn’t fight us on the beaches or the landing grounds either

Tissue to my nose like I’ve got a cold, no wheezing or fever, huffing ether

Anesthetized viper my bright colour, keep distance stripes like 97 Nikes

On the mic my voice is like a manipulation device

More potential lives than grains of rice in China, grave for a child tonight

Weapons grade retrograde, my patience is slight tonight, suffer no sleights

Smile spiteful, eyes iceful like a cider pint, Druids until I can’t stand upright

All month heavy energy, isolating, mouldering in exile, poems where I murder my enemies

Debris that fell from me when I stood uneasily, wading through the empties

My head foremost in incapacity, dulled like a extinguished lantern my fantasy maker

No ease for the full-time faker, pretty but vacant, hash cakes won star baker

Sickfaking daystaking off school because when I was an anxious teenager

Screens raised me, dad’s scathing hand upbraided me, grazing my ear claret

Ancient history now, much raised since promise of early days, Paris Louvre shake

Labels are weapons not words, unable to preserve what made you, who gave you

Such a revolutionary calling, who gave you this blade with hateful runes banded

I see blood running along the ground as from a cannon-downed fountain, who bade this

I see restrictions and new addictions, fake affiliations being remade in the news everyday

I laugh at how clearly made up are the rules, who made it this way, who obeyed

This shit, slaves, paddock animals whose leaping we count for sleep

Indeed, they are sleeping, the lord of evil in shadow, his batwinged cadre

In alacrity at the grievous and ceaseless battery of humanity

Reign of perverse abnormality, the normalisation of amorality

The skull in the mirror, the mirror is a skull, the pull of villainy 

Human deer cull the park is public but the mercs are private

Black tac vests and masks with slits for eyes like a knight helm and visor

Advisors in earpieces telling them drive forward and get busy

Took it easy like a skilled thief stealing gleaming gems from the queen

Enough’s enough, lust for musk of burning blood

Turn on you you know I would

Beren and Luthien, Tolkien reclining in the bluebell wood, elves in his sight

Hell is inside, a place you go when you don’t try

Ghosts of dead futures taunt me in the night

Trigger pull to flame engulf, napalm in my blunderbuss

The shelled husk of my ship’s hull

All pageant and fair, all is vanity

Evil plans laid a long time ago, before your parents came

Blooming, rising like ghouls from graves

Face of my maker unseen, no surcease from grief until my ashes steam

Wreath on my door to mark each season, processing behind the equinoxes

I’m on it gach lá, gach seachtain, gach mbláine, the discourse is toxic.