From somewhere, a barking dog reports his starving tattoo.
Insects thronging honeyed trunks
Shouting like mid fight Ray Longo
They drink it in the Congo;
I don’t mean pints of Umbongo.
Sure we’ll ferry you downriver, journey’ll be long though.
Faster if you double the dollar though.
Ripped off and knowing it but we’re finally going.
Bobbing past undergrowth, more like overgrowth.
South to North, Land’s End to John O’Groats;
Seen both by boat but that’s not where I’m going.
Flotsam and jetsam floating like undecided voters.
Toeing corpses off boats into the river, wanted votives.
Every scrutineer and bureaucrat questions my motive,
They call my journey impossible; they will not go, but I remain hopeful.
Someday, when this terrible and arduous perambulation is over,
When I am older and wiser thereby, I will be this sensational story’s scribe.
We traded, gave gifts, to the river tribes, who live an older form of life
Which since dawn ages unchanged has survived;
Elders remember changes, slaves trains in chains;
Violent epochs after white men came with paper cages.
Alchemisland 
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