Alchemisland

They said it might rain at five

I’m not driving but I’m loathe to carry and so said drat it

Light jacket only, take a crack at life while the mile’s golden

While the going is good the good is already going

The sky’s sickly shade and pie was if I

Recall rightly a drink-diet yellow, a sun-shy sallow.

Like Jack who loathes the shallows, foul weather follows me

As if tacked onto my monkied back.

I trade good money for blisterpacks

I hoof them quick, like Shadowfax

Swallow three

Wallowing meanly in a pricey Chrome Chroí Tee

From Hyperion returned, smoking spaceship trees.