Alchemisland

Riots in my bonce, in my human bonnet

Writing by the light from my bronze sconce

Sky alight, a Zeusian riot these past two nights

Maryblue forks when Thor outrides

Storm tonight no riders on it, writers love it

Needy trotters greedily, gleefully smacking a typewriter’s keys, teasing

Out a rough schema, the freehand sketch preceding the cathedral

The dreamed teased out into meagre reality, the page pleads

For ink’s tease

Writing rhymes pretending I spent nights out street racing, knight rider

Weaving, dipping, fast driving between lane lines stylish dangerous

Cars colour of tart lipstick caked on in scarred bar mirrors, truth is

I can’t even drive and I’m a nervous passenger, moreover

As a kid such bad motion sickness, whole journeys I’d spend bowled

Doubled over, moaning at Dad to pull over

Head stuck out the window like a dog approaching home.