Alchemisland

No MP3s I’m still dealing with CDs, bought about 100 in NCBI charity shops

Floor could do with a sweep and mop, deck scrub the lot

Hair could do with a chop

Spent teabag sink mound could do with a slop

My heart broken clean in two, like a foot of balsa Karate choppers used

I used to beat myself up until, like a fly’s arse, I was black and blue

That’s true but in the end what does quiet martyrdom do for you?

What I did for one glumly I now do for two and it’s lovely

I went from weed-dumbed to quite rum chap

Back to the garden, hardened heart softened once we said sorry for the apple

I used to see things cattle-wise, that’s black and white

Now I’m that much wiser, many shades like wine, cider and paint drying

Push myself outside myself, don’t worry about selling

Follow your passions and obsessions, where to there’s no telling

You can illustrate your abundance of care without yelling

I was onto something once, a whole year my brain light-flooded

I was, for the first time in my ankledragging life, lightfooted

As a mountain goat, I feel bantamweight light like a phantom fat in life

First night dead since the backslid knife and, what do you know, it’s actually nice

Airy and light, a sense, finally, of fairness, I suppose I should thank the faeries

For caring for one so contrary; after dawn, the sky blue as tendertouch Mary

She knows a thing or two about caring.