Alchemisland

Hymns to Pan

Hymns to lust 

Grasping sheets at satyr’s thrust 

Mad handed ecstasy of fumbling

Dry Steppe, home to a horselord or haven to homeless

Your love a great cave, soundless and immune to soundings, grave of groundlings

Ground tending downwards, rifled rock like a golem’s throat 

The cave of your love is on no maps, bones of other chaps like welcome mats 

Rat heads emerge from ribs, I root through their haversacks 

Hoping one made a map in marker

Inside a certain wet dark, dark that sticks to you like wax

Everything inside eats everything else

My flesh’s poverty is your stomach’s wealth

My feet upon the certain steps of those who went off track

Black as Tuam’s unfallow gardens, black as garbs that flung them in

Haunting wall recessions vast impressions of what you think I lack

Lesser dark akin to light in certain spots, blue ice-like 

Stone stacks, arches acneed with lime milk

Might-sapping each stealing inch

Stalagmites, stalactites, conquered dust in flight circuits the dome like a satellite

Looking back as Lot should not, grieving Sodom and loathing Goddom, perfumed pleasure dome he misses his writhing harem

Miraculous in the dark lance of anaemic light persevering, tenacious as cancer

Light of last chance, askance askew my sense of things I am lost in you and as if in answer

Something calls my name from deeper within the deepest cave, where infection yellow turn the bellies of braves