Alchemisland

Maps so old they’ve got mould 

Holes in which I stored things I stole

Epping Forest tomorrow 

Ditch a body

Bring a stove 

Shallow grave

Pitch up on it

Life I stole head I stoved

Out as I roved

Going where none are 

Nest, ineptitude’s reprieve 

Eden out of reach 

Sparks reach me, here I’m best

Alone and still competing question begs 

Who wins the race 

Them who stayed or them who ren

See her

As many times as the postman rings

Receiver

Saying hi, then the silence lingers

Doorbell rings no ringer doing adult dingers.