Alchemisland

Name written all over the burbs That furtive calligraphy of car park and curb My enervations so enrage them it reduces them to slur my good name House shows my earnings like I won a money tournament, burgher Burners, burnouts, pipeburners Top earnings, pipedowns, snipers, improved rifling With an improved life I could have done…

Glugging, trying to drown out the plugging and slugging Memories that feel exactly like the experience come flooding all of a sudden I’m done like a steaming plum pudding, take me out What do I press to tap? Bugzap myself with a whole gram, most can’t hold that; Atlas for example He got old, those…

Galling day, I was taken In this abrasive place shedding finer shape, scraped to bare graven Here shaking frail, faint growing, amazed how utterly spent I feel With only 33 turns of the wheel hardening my feet Better to tease the weakness all must fail to flee Once-vivid recall of appallingly spent days Lost now…

In the self-charcoal’d dark of feeling owed Counting out stolen oats, broken oaths The throats I would throttle to breaking if only they closer came In this close space, with clothes frayed Nails broken with ceaseless scraping, ruined chassis Unchained stasis, sin-stained As if this evil carapace would be escaped Taken away and burnt like…