Arms fed into my mincer Crabs running off with bits of you held in their pincers How innocent I acted, would have impressed Harold Pinter. Handpalm redder than Titian’s printer; Loved ginger bints, that painter. You said it but you won’t see her later, Not even if you squint.
An insistent, imploring chorus demanding I become a defiler, From the storage room where I keep my files and tormenting knife. A spotty trail of dotwork violence, wine from a hollowed vein, Any smart squaddy could follow, from mine to the bridge; Tail it in time and, boy, I’d be in a pinch.
A quiet bay If anyone else ever came I wasn’t there that day to say hello Or explain the pile of ripe-smelling clothesless bodies Wailing for clay’s embrace, denoting My art’s zenith. Votives For my seaside queen Whose steeds are Stormwave and Decksweep. A cove, a cave deep Moist black from attacks of spit-kin sea… Read more: Corpseplace
Tight knit, knitting needle pierced your eye Carved you up, like three were having pie Bisected you while you were still alive. Scarlet gloves rummaged inside. Playing gin rummy to quiet my running mind, considering suicide They want to catch me, and they really try; Knowledgeable salmon, to their flies I’m wise, Coyote I’ve got… Read more: OrganIck
No particular style Something different every time Keep them guessing. They won’t get me. There’ll be no trial, no heavenly reward either. Camel meet needle eye. Lethal, evil guy, Wiping off my bloodied knife. Lycanthrope, I hunt by night Rolled up in a rug Hole dug in muck Forward like a rook Ain’t no fool,… Read more: Wolfthoughts
Alchemisland 
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