Lambent, to win by wits keen
Words measured and massed
Of cruder sentiments shorn
Long pruning, its trained growing
Measured not by inch but metre
Not unlike a poem read by a ruler
Or a compass holder, its legspan
Finds the hidden meaning
Despite ignoring the light-pouring outpouring, beaming
Like a pearl’s underside only God could fetch.
To slander and draw laughter
Act like not you but what they’re all after
Make yourself something above, roof rafter Ryanair flight
Of the bumblebee
Reach heights by means of words
Charged by purpose, your power to describe improves
Your power to compel increases
In creases they folded over bent double though trenchless
Trenchant yes but truthful.
Drawling afterwards wreathed in fag smoke, choking back Bensons
Done, solified box crushed in my bailed boxing bones thrown into bin
The offended party skirts the room’s perimeter like a security angel
Before sidling over, his great mouth poised and eyes to floor
My tongue always primed coats with poison, give him more;
Even without retinue he does no less than best, insults threw
True each one. Afterwards he barely speaks, can barely speak, musters
A mutter’s hard-heard cousin, splutters like a happy horse at points raised
What defences raised, toothless militiamen and balsa palisades my raiders raze
He is like a person shot, shocked and or a sheep flockless craning for crozier-swoop
My apostles overhearing reassemble with much guffawing and girdle the match ground
Their ring a loop circuit along whose fleshed lines mirth sizzles; the target glums and droops
As if his limbs are of hidden metal, and the greedy lord of magnets is not far below
My grammar’s black magic grimoire of skin-sewn, the born-soon demons reside in couplets
Awaiting cups and swords and fool’s errands, have left him full of bleeding bores
Weeping claret, his holes like debottomed casks cry out for fingering like lamp-living whores
Like a belt left for resizing the awl of my tongue, the all of my hate, leaves him hole-ridden
His nights henceforth hagridden, the crone of my commentary haunting him like a limen
Lordly words to my lovers, their mundane doings thrived with foliate phrase; I limn them
Their limbs lithe, lissome, láidir or longing out purely.
They come seeking fortune, my particular lie longed for
Libations to the lugubrious, Tommy’s poppy to the dope afflicted, spark to a Prius
My lies the land’s length lauded. I am laurelled by a gift that once felt whole unearned
In Mother’s birthing urn letters lanced me, Thoth’s advancement evinced in early scribbles
Later books of magic further dulcify what a poet’s inclination rarifies continuous, dabbles
In spells and charms but at chapel perilous decides what’s more magic than manners: nothing.
What I could earn by Horus rite, I could too earn by a silvering of words I forth bring
Shining like Glamdring now they emerge, drinking down darkness.
Whenever I evocate, hate’s tide; hurtful words spurt forth
My inner alchemy bears Hesperidean fruit yet the charnel must out
Scoria, scree of great work, slag of god’s tools, expel as scorn
When Shakespeare wrote of leering and cuckoo sounds, surely his cucurbit flasks fostered inspiring miasms
No alchemist worth salts announces his crasis.
Inside sight, charging the summoned words
Sworl world-shaped cavorts mind’s corners
Litharge colour of combat’s wine, rent wrist’s discharge
When my armament nears readiness, launch-lust and jitters for deployment
Red cycles through lightening shades, bleaching and reburnishing, until orpiment
Pleasant wholly, rainbow’s midway rest, colour of fruit, Orpheus’ music, mother of gold: gloried orpiment.
Borrowing from myself in my tales, like Ouroboros’ self-lunching tail
I have not a work to my name but to myself assure, and never would aloud, you are the greatest.
Delusion requirement of art production, best believing best make best better;
Lead to gold, work of old.
One’s social position hinges on slagging ability,
The best are the best and retain privilege, nobility,
Therefore those with no ability are privy to swirlies and cruelty.
One kid Billy Dean got ‘shithead’ lipsticked to his windscreen,
Scrawled on lockers and journal, other implications obscene.
For me a lasher out I cannot fathom long suffering at others’ mouths;
Out with it I shout already advancing, clouting them around locker rooms
Wrapped towel breechclout disentangling itself as Gourdian never would.
End it’s done said amen so imagine expression when Mans I done rolling up
Out from graves I dug wherein I left them snug six feet deep by satan’s feet
The dead are stubborn as rams; I Amun godking of the Ogdoad, first of holy threes
Buried by heresies resurrected only to be buried by pharisees and holy Cees and papist plots and Gaulish greed.
Proud risingsons I turned fallingstars. Their fluttering wings I uttered downwards,
Bustered at conflict, mustard yellow their bellies, iron spines sink to jelly at my hell penning.
Persons glowering at flowers of ten thousand hours scribbling
Their ego like Argo minyan crafted, my clashing rocks dashing rent fore and aft red with dead
Swords pale to barbs and slower still
Toward the bard, the craftless advance afoot across a sward
Their pace retarded by ardours the bard makes martyrs of triers
Meanwhile he with missiles powers smites them from afars
Cavemen up against the force of modern arms, stone axes rubbled in the hand
Stick with venom brought against Force that cursed empty Zanarkand
Such slaughter at the Somme pales to what Atlantis brought along
Wave-making city smashers, stronger than the strong, beyond right and wrong
Themselves alone fearing devised their undoing, their pig god’s black-backed statue thronged
When thirsty oceans rose and left of their vast conquests only scraps of puzzling songs.
Alchemisland 
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