Alchemisland

Dirty as a windshield no wipers

After all those flies committed suicide and stopped flying

You’re dealing with a viper type from Knocklyon

Red warning stripes, silver-magnet pied

Paid the piper and got no pickled peppers back for your fiver

Lad, lucky you left alive; walk away, take the M5

Bite down on it, ignore the rumblings from your spine

I don’t know what time we arrived back in Dublin

Once city of prose, one mightily rose, now shit piles and circuiting crows

Failed crops that wilt in rows, at night I spin down bottomless holes

The weather fine enough to roll down the windows as we drove and roved

Bad end of my cigarette white as a newborn dove.