Alchemisland

You’re on Sovember, scotchonrockstober the shock of sober can leave man over

Like a turnover I’m dark at bits. “€1.70 love, and a bag is it?” flyover white cliffs Dover 

The Sea of Rome in Ostia, the Holy See the suffering earth the rebounding surf that slurps

The bay, the gulls cascade to the cast debris for a crab claw feast 

Brine riven beauties glinting beneath sea weed, flotsam and jetsam and samwise and samdumb from Hobbit weed

The sea of lode is freed, the beach with treasures is heaped at speed

Wares entreat the folk of air whose rarely grounding feet near clouds like sleet

Waters bubbling, is it memory or Leith

The boundaries barely hidden, the feeling of a leash

What sobriety could unleash

A dearth of words or a sapping drought, a westrising east a bloodless beef

Feathers mark and make the man, more than cloth decides

Feathers for war cowards, chiefs, loyal men and pieds

Movements of bodies in great swathe with astrological anomalies coincide

A second moon, since gone, in which dragons reside.