Alchemisland

What now cunt

Always been the litter’s runt

Barging pushing to the front

Warnings uttered, you were out to lunch

We were hunched over scraps building crafts made to last

I built a large barge from birch, bars and bitumen, survived the flood

Done with your bitching, dropped where you stood

Puddle of a man sprawled out like a drip, nose dripping

What now cunt

Nothing else to say about my mother

A fucking drubbing, this isn’t London

But I’ll put you underground

Bite it you scum, you bite it and I’ll cum

After the sex the piss stung, the place stunk like fresh dung

The word was mum, I kept time like the drums, left like sudden

Time set aside like a book distasteful to its reader, slowly bleeding

East of a garden, ribshredding blood eagles, new diseases

All entropic tendencies increasing, more greenery, tropical heats.