Alchemisland

Spending days indoors

Amount of sprayed hay equal to all Wales and the Dales come Lammas

Pushing bails up a trailhead in wet December, Prussian training regime

Sparring with Ricardo Lamas, lambasted McGregor with a cringe attack

The eyes the organ of sight fail to descry rats nearby, failing in bad light

Fish eyes on land, cataracted granddad run my hands along the package

Need the next volume in braille edition, my inhalant volume eats brain tissue

Wipe down with tissue after getting brain

Faster than Wipeout, playing games, bullet train

Car open casement spraying, scope trained

Tried running, sprained his ankle, gunned him down 

Rained on his parade, smoke all day then write tirades

My white traded to triads for a listening device

Spying on the most high, the high places

I’m with Ada Lovelace fucking on a time traveller’s grave

Brompton Cemetery my equipment in her pencil pearer

Ripe pear, bright nice hair and a right pair of airful balloons

I’m careful around her like I’m stepping across the town petunias

Trying not to ruin them two weeks before the horticultural festival, peculiar

Way of speaking confuses even the eager reader, disagree I have equals

Guarantee the beef is gonna have sequels, I don’t obey treaties

I don’t tolerate evil, I don’t pluck out twigs or seeds

Pop the lot in the tray and breathe like a diver before he dives

All down in one, I was number one on that field tonight brought triumph

To the town I once drowned in white and brown like shit fell too when

Snow came down, I was always downhill like the ground was a slope

I was hopeless and dangerous and giving myself rope

I was groping windows, staring in at things I hoped to own

I just wanted to hold them, even for just a moment

I went in when I was older

Ordered all the things young me wanted but couldn’t get hold of

Haven’t touched them once, growing mould, sign I’ve lost my soul

Or sign that I’ve actually grown, though you’d hardly notice

Weed or me, which is more ground down, the roots grow downward

The harvest in ounces and pounds, offers thousands of pounds

Meet in townhouses with bouncer-looking Moldovan gangsters with wolfhounds

Who bound after anyone clown enough to court their bad side

Body in the bed and the head by bedside locker.