Foreignness, therein
Rope burns (emic) on the chin/Some voyeur (etic) getting in
Some mirror eyed spectacle, stood up from tripping
A room, in
Boardings bounding thin
Terrain quandaries, flower eyes in
Sit, newspaper, hold, therein
I just had to see what I could get away with

Pronunciations, I find them all so amusing
These drinks, these feats, in
Knowing me and you, time purchasing
Perchance, to grasp the stem, feeling
To see, pink coins turn floor-wise, method in
“Where have they gone?” “speaking?”
“No thanks wrong number” bone and skin
Cold, Cold, fixed vacationing (two passports at this time)
Lay me down easy, with correct wording
Grangewood park gates, a ghost, therein
Waters of self purpose in the tumult, the rabble, the din
I just had to see what I could get away with

Fog filled fields of fissures watching
Supreme love, clicks and clacks, ordaining
Infidelity anklets of nations, shame on him
Red is an innocent cranes foot and an experienced wild Leitrim berry’s string
Kindly twiced, but actually once, kin
Purple armpit marks, of love, of sin
The hue of that last September, gin
Newly found arrogance post stress, chagrin
The passing of local news, the dustbin
Polemic bam bam, closed concept, therein
Respun under snapshot, mimesis errand (three passports at this time)
There is no shade to you, only hue
I just had to see what I could get away with

And then another Leitrim ref, the song of some shepherd
Sand pellets flying fast, entertainment? No i am fine
Calling (from a car) out into Doolin
A cure for some national disaster with flags tri-colored RWB
They had to see what they could get away with

Then Sunday came, on islands sometimes connected, some saviour is building a homestead
He saw the strings, gnawed at them, reigned free, therein
But found himself castrated, emasculated, tried his hand at priesthood
The pious life failed him, needs community, found borders, found problems, with/out, therein
Found the problems of the tasteless wealthy, faux reign, living across the street from your dying grandmother in the mill in which her buried husband used to work, making clay bowls, holding gardenias on strings above the toilet in which your grandfather used to piss
I beseech you in the bowels of the Cromwell sisters and Kate Bush, floating in a jar on the Irish sea, drink from the bowels of wolves on the Isle of Skye - these are clues
And upon crossing some border, there are statues of soldiers, RWB, look east again
And then leaders are left, finding some faux reign in which to squat, some teletubby house where they can discuss the ways in which the failed plan passed, the eunuch is there
The eunuch squeals on their way down, until he can climb through the asshole of the one true snake
Folds some flags into the shape of a triangle, four corners, three corners
What is god's number: It is 50, it is 1066 it is 2020, vision again
Not quite from the other side, The eunuch is lowered into a hole of his precise bodily proportions, however, there is a heightened sort of tp shape on the grass six feet above his their crotch area
There are women there who are screaming into his facial orifices, wearing black, western jambalaya, crossing some river, mapless, Ptolomy, western accept de burg
Threads cross, out with, out in, umbilical, stitch again, cross thread plateau, therein