Alchemisland

Wake up from a fevre dream, sheets tossed and pushed to drown around my feet

Southern heat in the night’s midway, my mind a highway 

My drive a ridge racer with an unplugged controller, crazier than taxi and Carmageddon coming together

I cannot explain my compulsions any more than the tide, why it comes in wide and steals off sons and brides and flows like wine or red iron out of Zion

Zion’s diamonds came from central Africa

Now they find fistfuls of them whilst fracking to the underworld

I am listing vampires, like the intern digitising van helsing’s library 

Mina Harker temporarily, Vlad, Jonathan and others from the diary

Think of grand estates, opulent rooms where grizzly hangovers from grand guignol are enacted

Impacted heads wide mouthed like people aping fishes during play acting

Prints of a beast on the floor, prince within the beast is no more, no more nevermore say Sebastian

Hollow bastion he haunts, his manse’s ballroom gaudy, his fittings mawkish, his snarl hawkish as he saw her him kiss

Saw her limbless, squaw her lined chin, sure as Amir Kahn is chinless Beast blows his aggro off using chin lifts

Chain lifts raise him up but he maintains low station, elation of great height, minute nation

Mountains like inflammations, formations you can only see from up high

Haul to raise wonders for the delight of them who sit the sky, their smiles the rising crop

Raw as an arse whacked with a riding crop the wind up here, whipping takes the face off

Without a tight death grip my mask begins to slip, my painted smile hides a curled lip.

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While Vlad clears his wooden trencher and gold goblet, the impaled corpses grow paler

Crows and carrion things squawk delightedly, loop in sheer mania

Branches droop and evil laughs insanely at the sane part of me

The part of me that cries when mice die moves aside, a kabbalah peptide

Launches me from mortality, my Rohirrim ride for red dawn and ruin regardless of beacons

When day thins I take forbidden cities in, grey gaunt and thin.

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Far from the massing cloud, the madding crowd parts as if a mad gasser walked through

Nosferatu stalks, dew baulks at his crypt walk

He talks to them, cripples them with fascination

He opens them, their frogmouth necks his feeding station

Source of all lost boys, dust on their old toys

Sound of soon death nail chalkboard his cold voice

His grip is a vice, his touch is old ice

He craves human blood after weeks draining mice

Catalogues of queer vice, spice of ichor blood as splendour

His mouth dripping like a blender beak

Moonlight endures, the killer seeks.