The girl who ‘lies’ right by the kissed lip of the Shannon Estuary
Same old immeasurable constellations – tattoo embalmed dispassion-ed ex-pixie-dust face
Just
Must
Have
Her and swatting affably against the granular nasty-handed grain

A star of merriment sedation stressed hence hazardously against
These undeniable meanderings which were her f-altered ego cut to shreds ’til cut red-ribbon coordinated again ’til left to linger a fair while – smiles for trans-generational miles – ethereal and other-universally pronounced

Dry cotton, linguistic Luimneach-girl mouth

Transatlantic
And it is in our very best nature to leave it in our heads, all of it, and prepared to stay a detri-mental distance, indeed – freed from her very own inter-mangled ‘Zombie-land’ hellhole since 1916 – so we do know

Is this, though, ‘The Animal Instinct’ in her, or just my imagination playing games with me?