Alchemisland

Born fucked, Richie to the power of 3 crooked 

Curtains for my hurting vertebrae

Took her offroad for the day

Wheels spinning, muck spray

More mud on the door than on the uniform

Of a bomb-tired Tommy in the First World War

Two tours in Tours, you could hardly call me a tourist

I could make the maps I’ve done that many laps

I could probably wait until light lapsed, Batman

Then still walk it backwards

This is actual

I’m talking annuals with an actuary from France

I’ve got on my thinking cap, student hat

For once my gums aren’t flapping like windbattered sails exploration’s age

Now it’s an information age, we’re in the ironic, overextrapolating phase

Everything political must be made art

Everything art must come with explanation

Which eventually will replace the ar wholesale; part parcel parcel part

I kicked someone hard, they went down hard, strained my metatarsals

Definitely felt something break, at least the payload erased the target.