Alchemisland

Drinking port no stormy Polished off four Dark ‘n’ Stormies Now I’m shaking with dark stories Imbalances in my hormones In bastards where my sword goes Massive totals, gross looking Khaled Finally back in plus, Jhonn balance Through a hair’s breadth crack, sneaking out the back Thank God I stuck to salads.

Hopeless suing for favour Poseidon lies to sailors Soon below waves so much fine tailoring The once-mighty now low-lain, as the Bible says Light-bright Marconi machines going all day Messages in seaman’s code: our souls do save Titanic’s side torn open, open goal for anyone hoping It’s listing, on the ropes getting fisthit by Liston…

Her coat still on Giving a soapy handjob to a bearded John Wheel of fortune, wagon wheels, deodorant; let ’em roll on She says “Goodnight mister.” Forget the Tom City looks bombed A sense of eerie, unwanted calm Drink to her pain A miraculous balm.

Two versions of me, wielding knives Both have sworn unimpeachable, unbreachable oaths, on their lives About to face off in an arena, the crowd wild Going to try and pry open the other’s throat One must die, cannot lead two lives at this time My lost suitcase full of convincing masks and notes for unused…

In the lake next to me lives a plesiosaur Which I always thought sounded like the name of a Gaeilgeoir You might meet up in Donegal near Grianán of Aileach, the fort I’m going to walk the frigid shore, planning on sailing North No stopping until Hyperborea, and Aquilonian resorts Take my hide-shored boat deep…