Alchemisland

For lore I’ll gladly become forever forlorn by the stormwielding Lord

Tired of yielding, tired of fielding offers from cunts,

Tired of feeling there’s a ceiling to what I could afford at once.

My blunt packs curative for melancholy temperament. Pax, temporary.

Got more tenement dwellings than a settled colony

To me they’re ten a penny

Meanwhile I’m living spenny, denizen of a big tower: Sauron Tenpenny.

It’s never settled in this economy, neither am I

Up until five working wonders

Restless numbers wrestling for abundance, me ringside waving my slip

Meagre lunches keep me hungry for hundreds, I’ll take fifties.

Once I’m flooded with them I only want thousands to crunch, upward

Punching up uppercutted the gem-studded bottom of God’s best cup

Upended bloodwine onto mudless whites.