Alchemisland

Neuralchemy, summoning lost worlds, astral womb knowledge

Alchemisland Poetry

Neuralchemical poetry for comet-scoured skies, matins as the world dies.

POEMS, ODES, PROSE, GHOSTS, RITES, RITUALS, OCCULT HYMNS, LUNAR LIMN

Writings – Invocations

  • Spoiled brat
    by alchemisland
    Schooner’s big wake, no big wait Text early enough today it’ll be on the way before the bus driver changes For mystique, venom-gozzying drake in waxed teak at the helm of the spaceship Francis Drake at the head facing Asia Going through hell to get you off your melon, doses to the face Emoting onto… Read more: Spoiled brat
  • Oracle dose
    by alchemisland
    Big plumes no helms, who’s shooting you can’t tell Koreans twelves, well-dressed sellers, doing 2CBs in 2 feet deep cellars Big moves, Marcellus. Pieces fell, career gravediggers using JCBs Bored eventually, board upended if victory doesn’t come within ten, ADHD Have corneas glued to me, that’s what the new jewels for Corny ass fools asking… Read more: Oracle dose
  • Horseprice
    by alchemisland
    Black magic attacks taxing the faith of Saint Patrick Both oracles say the same; two titans, blows exchanged, and one erased. Tragic fates await the students of the snakechaser. No traffic so the sad sight in my rearview is fast in fading away the further We travel, horse innards unravelled bashed flat with crooked judge’s… Read more: Horseprice
  • Tourmaline ecstatic
    by alchemisland
    Emeralds parsnip green Whiskers clipped like rebel angel’s wings Spendy whiskeys glinting in cracks between ringed fingers, The water of life shines orange gold Like a pirate’s hand holding doubloons before a roaring brazier Glasses clinking make a sound like Crystalline children tripping during play and having to live chipped. A pleasureful selection of frames… Read more: Tourmaline ecstatic
  • Midnight handjobs at the Junior Ganymede
    by alchemisland
    Old and breathtaking bean, I say! Today you look Handsomer than George Gordon fourth, And second naughtiest iteration of the title, Lord Byron Choiceless am I, and certain besides; a love behind drawn curtains. I must admire (noiselessly) thy sinewy, frontier strength Thy legs, graven stilts upholding slim Herakles ‘pon some ancient hill. Brawn much… Read more: Midnight handjobs at the Junior Ganymede

Neuralchemy, summoning lost worlds, astral womb knowledge

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