THE REFINERY

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Skin me with a kiss from a cold corpse

lance me to the bone with a keen knife

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immerse me in a bath of acid

clasp me in the vice of a country garage

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stab me with the magic of an ordinary day

carve from me hunks of conditioning

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beat me into a shape that will catch the wind

glean something useful from my essence

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score me like the relief map of Connemara

distil me into alcohol drunk at my wake

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abandon me at a crossroads in Roscommon

polish me finally into a shiny ball bearing

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that drops from the mouth of a beautiful statue

onto a city square where a refugee sleeps