Alchemisland

Born fucked, Richie to the power of 3 crooked  Curtains for my hurting vertebrae Took her offroad for the day Wheels spinning, muck spray More mud on the door than on the uniform Of a bomb-tired Tommy in the First World War Two tours in Tours, you could hardly call me a tourist I could…

As snow toploads a flower, Lo, see my head gold banded like a bandit’s finger, in its finest hour, Ignobly lowered closer the soup’s rim by dint of glinting crown.

Hate the Late Late Pray the Gay Byrne away Always the same Boring, state-mandated conversation A stasis, prolonged, that our State has created It maintains their status.

Part Marcel Marceau how I go stonefaced No syllable escapes my sealed grate None of their temptations invade my safe space I might be a waste of space but I’m basically unbreakable I’ll let you take what you want to take for an easy life But what I do not wish to give stays with…

For lore I’ll gladly become forever forlorn by the stormwielding Lord Tired of yielding, tired of fielding offers from cunts, Tired of feeling there’s a ceiling to what I could afford at once. My blunt packs curative for melancholy temperament. Pax, temporary. Got more tenement dwellings than a settled colony To me they’re ten a…