Alchemisland

I’m over it but she’s sending me pictures trying to lure me over

Her bent over in the Raquel briefs, however many million years BC

I’m stoned, quelle surprise to anyone who knows me

White crusting my nose, black and well cushioned my night-hued robes

On mapless backroads where even the feckless and hapless will not go

He sends me pictures, could fill a whole album

Open them in different tabs, closely examine the packages

Consider my own costs, shifting it, how long it’ll take to bag

Payloads on subtle galleys

Tallies, totting up totals, owing bits to baddies

Text back tell him calc it then flight mode to relax

Shirtless black work slacks and smoking half the bag mixed with fags on the balcony

Up late night, after it doing alchemies

A focused beam, dreams of Archimedes aiming his lasers out to sea

Fire tearing up the now-fearful fleet

How tides can be made to bleed when freed spearmouths feed