Cough like I’ve been mustard gassed due to all the fags
Tab ash in the Bulmers ashtray so tall it needs branches
Redwood tall my stack, appallingly strong snacks
Deadwood I’m a denizen thereof, born baddy
Boys riding out, they’re on some Tennyson shit
Tense all the time, fearing terrorism on trains
What a way to go to heaven’s gate
A tight tunnel lightless, life fading
Crying thinking of all the high grade payloads I’ll never ingest
Peyote stops me being so odious
Over it like an ex or barrier
My barrier eats your hexes
Salt circle girdling my legs
On your knees, and then you’ll beg
Three gryphons, none of them Meg
Alchemical inscriptions, none of them make
Sense but I know there’s something there worth knowing
Documenting my own decline, with crown weight my head inclines
My chin against the collar of tight white t shirt red-flecked like my eyes
Recline feeling less than fine, my preclusions occlude my movements
A conveyor belt of illusions
Can’t fit this belt anymore.
Alchemisland 
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