Alchemisland

Halfway through March, days still dark as a killer’s heart

Hark, hear the stark android harmonies from the multi-storey car park

Joyride for a lark, end up sliced in half

Fifteen car crash mid morning Manhattan traffic

Windows smashed, urgent need for body bags

Every carhorn played, from the blaze arose a hazy tornado of black smoke

The car’s broken bones reduce to ash, metal sagging hot as heated hash

Man bag strap like a mayoral sash, stashed in that my rare goulash

Use reduces a man to a ghoul

I am more man’s collapse than Samael from the branches.