I’ve never liked going to pubs
Noisome grubs grabbing shoving glugging gulping
Hated pulling, mulling over a cute as pudding
Hair black back of a burnt turnover
She’s attracted like a magnet by my affluence, high turnover
Bank balance more sixes than a devil witnesses’ kitchen
Counters, encountering demons through formica surfaces
Resurfacing after hours underwater
Unbothered by bombs falling
In see-through water recalling 30 AU with James Bond’s creator
He died later that day, survived the war unscathed but seventy a day
But paid to you, see your day, old dog, way before seventy in age
Today I finally turned the stuck page, the next blank as a carapace
Blanched long languishing in anguish inducing suncoils
Recalling toil, tilling soil for scant reward, duress akin to torture
No tincture to succour ardored muscles, the skin sagging sinking
Slinking into the shade, recoiling at the bubbling sun, muzzled hounds
Repose on the ground like men drowned where waves rebound.
Alchemisland 
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