The fetch: that life must end
The fence o’er which gunmen bend
The birds toward which their gunshot tends
The fetch, the fetch, the fetch to end.
Swans turned loose are roundly shot
Leaded bodies by hounds are got, to masters brought.
Great cunt of Manhattan, glass ziggurats fastness of sun priest
Squeezing out malcontents and condemners, a ceaseless east.
Icarus is a falling plane. Killing of swans a known profane
Taboo that man ere flew, if Daedalus knew why had not sufficient glue
My only war on terror is when I decide to blow my head off clean; once and for all off that nightmare machine.
Plastic still on this tarot deck
Tumescent plastics interior Elect
Pain of pricked arms incites borne arms, bored mams radicalised
Is this war or not war, reactions seem outsized, seniority is prized
Nails are pried but the name I hide alone in my synapse will reside
Read online but never spoken aloud, the feeling of being published
Denominators low enough to limbo, fulfilment of evil wish.
Locked door city the apple outside Eden
An ancient angel lives there but it’s still furnished, all from Sweden
Firesword once held aloft outside a garden boundary
Hides beneath a trunk inside the loft, like Arthur never found thee
He waited aeons for attempted break ins but too strong a ward the cost of snake sins
Adam’s tears met the salt in soil and bid the virgin chute to spring
Endless sun and the rain unborn, yet he wore his heavy suit of snakeskin
His kin half holy and half profane, Samael and Lillith their insane brood
All the monsters of all the myths, Grendel, Hydra, what effective sentry quiets the moon.
Eve without a thought of cloth between her flesh and the ground
Woke in sweat and puzzlement, Abel cannot Cain be around
In her vision brandished antique fangs, kin to those which tasted temptations
Immortal Vampire Cain who Mormons call Bigfoot, with love of blood enflamed, ending nations
What nations would come from Abel, that able husbandman who fairly divvies shares
Will languish as thoughts in Cain’s blood bilged belly, as will his unborn heirs.
Enoch raised to affront his father’s father, a marble vampire lair
But the waiting angel grew tired of foot tapping, Edenwalled his knuckle rapping
The tapping of time against one Immortal, the torture of ceaseless expectation
The fantasy of release and closure merely religification of orgasm
Reliquification of holy blood, clotless as a warfarin shortage, spectation
Of bird movement will decide my campaign, the alchemist Julien Champagne’s delectation
Over black madonnas and slit spreading hermaphrodites, thrice hermes but twice her knees
Bent in wonder at the altarpiece, dreams of second city Nod, dreams of weedy sleep.
Angel retired some thousand years, thinking little or ill of old vigil
Still vigilant, for his poise hardens at the receipt of a future scene
Things he has seen, a stolen apple and the first of many exodia, then things unseen
Like a dream but not a dream, the swirling vision becomes more clean
Someone is at something, hunched over it and keen
Elbow like a fiddler’s, a sense that this thing has and has not been
At a name’s utterance his head instinctively shoots sideways, the blood weaned
Clarity of image, claret clouds his visage, Cain first to murder with celerity devouring a shot swan.
A single tick this whole cruel trick slick with essential oils
When the falling clouds like shotted swans fall into sea that boils
Strides made of duck down, garment for talk of town
They tramp back all nattering. “Ploughmans?” “Not today”
What a day, the falling birds, what sporting Anatidae
Cloud wrought bird of painted blizzard, river revealer water wizard
Thy bleeding quill unstops the sinkhole.
Alchemisland 
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