In the lake next to me lives a plesiosaur
Which I always thought sounded like the name of a gaeilgeoir
That you might meet up in Donegal near Grianan of Aileach, the fort
I’m going to walk to the frigid shore, planning to sail North
No stopping until Hyperborea, and the Aquilonian resorts
Take my hide-shored boat deep into gelid tides, below which armadas lie
All the bones of all who died, ground to glass with no more pride
Than clawless, toothless lions kept inside by some rich guy in Dubai.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment