Alchemisland

In grips, those in my midst gripped 

All I say grist for mills, gurn from pills

Late last night we climbed the hill

No one tumbled backward, Jack and Jill

At the top, branches lopped, oil topped

Pile, lit the fire roars to a beacon pyre

Lines get chopped on game boxes

Noses get done in like in boxing

Eyeless doesn’t matter when you’re Midas

Smiling, knowing everything is golden 

Bring it back, further, olden times

I want mediaeval shit, apothecaries apostates

Vast estates tracts blank on maps

Cops come, scramble like the powers for Africa

If I ran once I ran thirty times

They keep trying but I keep triumphing, 33 and never felt a truncheon

Never stood before a judge, cotton candy colour like at Funderland

Her underwear beneath a suit of zip-crazed rubber, no mistakes

But I still rub a man out, rub one out before and after

A quiet word in the back with my black-cloaked master

In his grasp, can’t evade his clasp, gasp at him maskless.