Alchemisland

Frying, high amounts of homegrown stowed

In what my bones hold, tape frozen

Same few notes over and over and over and over

A life thinking only of myself, never doing what I was told

And for what? I look back older shuddering at former coldness

In the room’s open portion I watch the engaged mirror contort

My form, forlorn, far gone, beyond adoration, cursed with farsight

I will answer to the Almighty, for my lack of piety I will be smited

And rightly, condoning what I scorn in others, look at all the things I own

My fingers gold to the lunula, heavy with rings

Bleeding gems cursed by violence in the mines where they are harvested

No thoughts for butchery and ill treatment in the hardened hearts and minds of those made divine by that diamantine finery

A choir, all of them Irish, singing sad songs for me

Me looking hangdog, half-god not bothered anymore

Might not see tomorrow, might never get older

Trying on diamonds from Sierra Leone, smiling but politely

Despite the fact that I’m alone again, I hat my head in hands

Feeling swept away, I sat up and wept in my bed for ten

Maybe twenty years, I hesitate to say I feel in the clear

My good friend, a homie, knows me, held me like he owned me

I owe him, that clasp, that single action, tore off my mask

After that I was able to master what seemed overtight fastens

All this feelings shit is a load of me hole I think, taking another hit

Bift top lit spitting diminutive comets, glow makes me feel less lonely

Expensive gems crown my head, expressing myself through elegance, holy

Jewels abundant as cheap rhinestones on a cowboy jacket, Sergio Leone

Museum holy stone on loan, thrown from storm sky ages before Christ

See it for a date, wait at the Spire until you arrive

Disgusting what my eyes descry, what happened Dublin

City of magic now full of muggles

No extra houses despite population doubling

Struggling to remain elevated, injecting at Luas stations broad day

Troubling numbers of homeless people, across the nation

Could they see, what would the Easter leaders say?

Simon Harris talked today about immigrations part to play

Wind-flayed, the bombscattered afraid and devastated

Live in Victorian disarray, long lines of identical tents

Like a Roman encampment at Gaul’s fringe

Gall of pricks pretending that they’re responsible for this

No pots for pissing, they’re not the ones mugging needle sticking

Addicted robbing for quick fixes, diving after bobbing bricks

When the coastguard hosts the stick up, loan sharks, no regard

For harm done, injecting toes when black tar ruins one arm

Don’t blame the displaced in lousy misery, empty pans

Hunger pangs, bitter tang of exodus in foreign lands

From dusty sands to this, the grand canal, swans maddened

By this invasion on their land, students on a mad one

Shouting racist slanders they learned from American handlers

People my dad’s age into mad stuff, read it on a Facebook page

All prey easily preyed upon by predators, share to page equals one prayer

People who still forward chain mails convinced vaccines are chemtrails

I feel bad for them but I feel bad for me too, imagine having no place

Living cold in car parks and public parks, sans passport, sans safety.