Alchemisland

Smacked arse, yeah that’s nice

Yeah that’s fucking ASDA price

Yeah, you heard me, that’s the price

No backchat from my lab mice

Who cares whether it’s skunk or spice

Whether the buzz is aggro or chill as ice

Price is nice, hand over nine fivers 

Then drive off and enjoy your night

I can read minds, future divining

It’s freaky, mind you, having the Shining

That must be why Magpies like me

Man alive, psychic visions coming timely

Don’t turn left here, or time for silence

Just in time, like the letter I transferred to tome

Take a different road home, turn widdershins, they all lead Rome

This year is the first time I’ve ever written poems without smoking bones

Not that you’d know, I was baked as a scone

Spaced out, flaming up corners

The worst kind of flaked out stoner

Red-eyed at dinner eating Hunter’s Chicken

My missus groaning as I enter the kitchen

Better than drinking until pissing breeches or have yellow skin, Groening

No more spliffing, no more hits off blimmers

No more drinking what splits my liver

I’ll still deal it, I’ll deliver

Boatmaster, Styx River

Throatblaster, dick for dinner

Gagging often, growing thinner

Just like that Stephen Kinger

Sad ending story for a fascist tending Tory

Hot birds on my insta story, drama coming like Maury.