Alchemisland

It’s a definite maybe, found my oasis On that train, one made of gravy Little Engine That Could, as told by Major Payne Carriage opposite they’re staring like I’m a painting, apparently My snakeskins on the table, blowing doja not caring Nothing askew or astray, not a hair, clearly I’m the heir apparent Hair’s not…

Strange people from the mountains and valleys come into town Once or twice a month to shop, to chat, to lounge around In slop stained tops Perhaps sink a pint, or two, in Black Tom’s flophouse Grousing on, worried about foreigners moving down.

Practically thriving, cracked up while driving Windows cracked, weedwhacker gas spiralling skyward All my skivers and spiders know the shop’s open tonight Selling paintings, dainty playthings, Satan-aided Practically giving them away so buy today, closing down sale They’re mediocre but that’s the charm in a way Naïve style, unpracticed arm Outsider art I remind them,…

Voidling, shard of the dark Where flesh and star marry In your hard shell, below carrion, all our universe carried Never started Carved on my heart Holidays in the Algarve Dishonest mage in owl garb Adding carp eyes to an admix, manifesting  Plotting, digging plots, planting, now’s the trowel part Invisible entities play their part…

Tart from Barnsley coming up by bus for fucking Hitting that like a German rifle butt hitting a Russian during Stalingrad Confirmed before she turned Dublin direction, likes butt-stuffed erections Ash tray stacked with butts, fags and buds Suddy pints from the Malmsey butt Torture sounds heard from the buildings abutting So much noise from…