Alchemisland

Hemmed in on Hemwick Charnel Lane Blending paint and pain to devastating effect Every line’s an ending the author can’t explain, even to himself. My writing process involves smoking myself into a mess Then emptying a pen upon the wing of a hen.

Blind shooting like I’ve got a question for contestant two Wick’s low, Subi full of speed-addicted schemers speeding east of slow Through moth-teeming afterglow, outta Wexford into Wicklow Tinahely straining into slick view. My lot worship the widow of Loughcrew Rolling crude oil hash, mashed with that don’t-mess-with crew Recruited from around: Booterstown, Baltinglass, Carnew…

Two brute pulls to prove that I’m a man and pull Two hulls, indulged on a catamaran, everything bulk Acting like I’m wilding with bulging pockets for the cameraman When actually I can’t heat my gaff until they assuage the heat in Iran. She’s Catalan like a Moritz can My low fire’s brittle kindling spits…

Vermouths, high proofs smell like makeup remover Aloof, at an affected removal from you Little dwindling about my movements A creature at remove, moonful Ever a mover like a stranger to time A wader through air, a graceful soarer toward and around danger Did with iron bar and quivering eye prise apart. The darkness died,…

Reproof failed to remove The moods of which they disapproved High proofs in high roofed rooms Hired suits Chugging splutter-inducing Drug-improved Mugs of Vermouth Signs I’m higher than you Home-produced Smoke-imbued sweet nothings Her trusting ear revered my amusing queries Her maroon hair betrayed Irish roots Uprooted during some spudless period The geese who flew.…