Alchemisland

Gorgeous thing used to dance

She wasn’t bad

Might have made it

Given half a chance

Now she’s half-hag. half ghost

Living in a Vango tent along the banks of the Royal Canal

It’s not the Auld Triangle she hears clanging.

Jamall managed to cop some poppers, eyes wide like Rango

She doesn’t want to but he’s insisting it takes two to Tango

Of course she’s interested, they’ve trysted thrice, when twisted

What’s four even five when you’re not sure how long you’ll be alive?

Breath in hoardslept drake’s plumes, dangerous when it’s icy outside

Have to keep moving, learning to use the moon as a time device

All her elements sag like antlers on a skewered stag

Elements defile what they masterfully crafted back to haggard standard.