Alchemisland

A crow comes cawing through the hole, my stoven roof which permits cold

Shrieking asks ‘art thou noble?’

Nobu, I can go bell to bell twelve times getting leathered pillar to post

Fuck your smelling salts, I’ve got dopesmoker energy, immediate entry

When I scent a spare inch, an overthrown kick, on those hips

Like a rose tattoo for the over 50s, above the waist of fishnets

Waves take away the sailing ship, a waste of fishnets, currents

Currently focusing on accruing currency through courtesy

The king is slave most, serving all, his trappings are merely tassels

Busywork for the sightful, with crown’s weight head inclines slightly

Until he resembles wind-snapped corn, angled ninety degrees

Blitzkrieg despite the treaty, trees trembling tanktracks twenty

Legions tensed and ready, hepped up on methamphetamines

Wings, tracks and boots, rattling shooting the rabid confusion

Ruined shopfronts unlooted, bending to steal a luger from a dead Hitler Youth

Right rising like mercury at the temperature in July, even the green island

Where Odysseus enjoyed a portion of his exile after Ilium’s sack, susceptible

To these ignorant primates, it’s time for the drive back

Over the cliff, better hope you’re a pilot can’t be racist and Irish

We spent more time going overseas than pirates

There’s no distant quadrant where you can’t find a flying squadron

Of red-faced micks, instantly discernible in a crowd, big irish heads on them

Ages since we dropped a bomb, let’s take stock of whose posturing

One more movement and your next poem will be posthumous

Protest movements harnessed for profit, we laugh at the prophets

We put X on the dockets, casing ballots as if it mattered, not Athens

Never short of words but knowing what to say came later, after

Well misspent boyhood, hood up shove up the pussy, master

Of muppets my Matrix boots were half metallic, thick biker jacket

With Darkthrone and Bathory logos painted on the back

Bread and rings, Halloween barmbrack

Fuck around at the farm, shot around barnback like when Old Yeller went rabid

Slim but no jackrabbit, always shoot no McGavin

Black scrying mirror plans my routes, satanic roundabout

Grim with all badhabits, alien in the wrong habitat, ancient roundtower

Silks in great store, thought my wardrobe was the haberdashery

Wacky races, wacky baccy blazing, habits Dick Dastardly

Pray silence when the boss talks, you pathetic bastard.