The Alchemist

Some men call me ‘alchemist’
Others call me ‘Tim’
Some say: God keeps a ‘favourites’ list
And number one is him

Thousands trek from distant lands
To see, firsthand, my greatness
The magic I perform upon
The horrors that await us

Fame and cash will disillusion
We all go from tux to catheter
But like trash in Mr Fusion
Used to fuel the Flux Capicator

I recycle rubbish modern life
All hate and pain (well, nearly all)
A homeless man says: ‘Spare some change?’
But all I hear’s... material

That’s poetry! You see? You see?
A blend of head and heart
He might not have a thing to eat
But now his hunger’s art!

My mind’s a roving lamp, exposing
Truths that never sank in
I use this hand to hold my pen
This one, I use for thanking

All my saucer-eyed admirers
When they garland me with praise
‘Sir, you shine the light of meaning
On our wretched, artless days!’

For those without a poet’s ear
This life’s a long and weary haul
The news says: LANDSLIDE – THOUSANDS DEAD
But all I hear’s... material

This ‘happiness’ I hear about
Seems awfully insipid gruel
To base a great career upon
Cheer up? D’you take me for a fool?

O genius will never die
While love is just ethereal
You say: ‘Tim, I’m leaving you.
You never listen, so – we’re through.
Tim? Did you hear what I just said?
Hello? Stop writing. Nod your head.
For God’s sake, fine then! Don’t look up.
It’s like you’re hardly here at all.
Hey wa- are you transcribing this?’
But all I hear’s... material