Moving out the flat into a castle
Like Dracula moving backwards
Feelings hard to capture after I’ve had a half capsule
We can laugh about this after, once the tap’s through
Two pills red-rinded what kind I don’t know
One to fill me now, another to fulfil me tomorrow
Filling hollows with powdered sorrow
Take both type attitude, a waster acutely
Cheek-chewing, watching couch patterns move
Won’t let a half go to waste
No straight lines, coke shape arcuate
Single hay taste starts art creation; one chord only needed to dance
Spare nails for Tate hanging
Uncork the man, not from Cork
Born nearer D4 before 4 using silver forks.
Alchemisland 
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