Alchemisland

Summer in Dublin, I’m Sulla and I’m out pulling

Bookish ones down from Glencullen, staying with cousins

Or mad buzzers up from Belmullet, just out for the chugging

Fulla suds snorting toboggan terrain

Shouting Up De Flats, yiz cunts, at students from Spain congregating

At the entrance to the lane where I’m selling MDMA

Hero ain’t but here mate don’t say that to a lady.

Radar attuned to cumguzzlers lately

Fill with spunky gallons the cavernous gullet of your mother

Before saying an Our Father and tending to my next lover

Praying lately, CS Lewis made me

My Bible’s cover emu hide with rhinestones and diamonds either side

Yours the Temu type, print-tattooed in a teeming reduced aisle

Rejuicing juiceless fruit

Overboarding useless loot and haunted shooters

Incognito mode and DuckDuckGo if you own a get caught type computer

Tapping cards but I’m not commuting

Powder from shards, doing lines like I fought in the yard

Hotter than a bonnet below the Shard

When mercury rises harder than a father,

Who, a partyer formerly, once took coke at a formal in 73,

Taking the stuff that buzzes the boys and me, making bother.

Hit a hardbody with a poison knee

Gleefully inject him with toxicity so he can’t resurrect

Hit then flee, my pick of flea-ridden gees, flick your bean quelle surprise

Fly away home, I don’t mean migrating geese on your screens on RTÉ

Funderland doubles both as fairground and drughub

Fair idea who’ll be wanting to buy, drugrug dreadlock type

Tracksuit guys with eyebrow stripes

Blackrock business boys poised to make noise

On the cusp of something big, so it’s coke and outdoor voice.

To escape the light I dip inside the nearest building

I synthesise to prevail triumphant at crunching time

Bones rolling like teeth a-scatter at truncheon time

Realize it was a mistake doing seal-size lines at luncheon time

Coming up on food and food coming up like I’m stood in the lunchline

More than just punchlines, though I am lordly at pun tries

As head movement disrupts punch lines

So, mind movement changes a thought’s route

At thought’s root, where toothsome worms chew the known anew

Breathing deeper than deep, in the Underworld’s cupboard

Hitting ulcerating sulphur bongs, longing to recolour all I’ve suffered

Eye sides red white like Sunderland’s colours

Rats and undercovers under the thumb of my coven

Eight whiskey sours improves my driving powers

I spy with my little eye something beginning with shit writer.