Alchemisland

Out in Clondalkin crainn-stalking

Pocketful of crown-tired dead presidents

When we see someone with blend making generous measurements

We say “now you’re talking”

We respond accordingly, Charlie Chalk-ing pool cue often

Swag half-dancing

That’s just my stroll to the shop for fags and cans, Walken

Walk in like I’m eminent, reticence from residents, whispers, talking

Ten months in the Radisson, city-view dormer, lobsters to the door

If swept my room could provide more evidence than any fingerprint I left

I bet

For green, no radishes, I charge a princely ransom

Purple tint to the cannabis

Put smoke underwater like towers raised to daughters before Atlantis fell

Land altered

At my altar the fortunes of slaughter-slathered idols are bought

Life’s just fuel for poems, like that bus driver from Paterson

More secret meets than Ashley Madison, no greeting

For Pete’s sake, I’ll leave a cretin no breathing

White we make, no créme fraiche or fricassee

Always topped up, full of credit like a smart one’s examinations

In case I need to text; in case I need to get it, no patience.