More stans than your favourite rapper
More last stands than a Tolkien battle chapter
Reach for the handle but she says no batteries
No rabbit that’s a Bugs ban
Lugs Branigan again walking the block
Medals knocking, one from Knock
Looking spick, span
Knock-ready like a knock-kneed granny
I’ll happily throw hands, any cranny from Buncrana to Knockranny
My shoe shadow an eclipse to a bug’s span
Big mammoth ears like a caveman’s fodder, handles on a cup, for hands
Belt he gave man in answer was a shock
Not an impact you could unpack as glancing at all
Look, motherfucker, I’ll brook no quarrel; any guff a gutpunch’ll follow
Keep talking out of turn the death merchant’ll be hawking your mam urns
For loose talk you get got
Your mam will dress goth
Talking eternity with our lady of the sorrows
But if I look and see man again when I come back tomorrow
All that wasted time you’ll look back to revise as borrowed.
Alchemisland 
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