Rivers moling their way to Jules Vernes’ internal oceans
Their frothed commotions roused by monsters like Komodos
Bred with Kodos
From outside our Cosmos
The King wears purple to attend the Gala, his stall farther forward than others
The King in Yellow will be performed, the King in Yellow is in attendance
His visible attendants make people cough when they pass
His hidden factions heelbrought by his hydra lash ready his ashes
Invisible remnants fester like a leg after Borodino
More wounds than Boromir, must borrow vitality
Until flesh clothes, stage deaths are ritual fatalities
While perfumed soliloquies drop from the producer-fucked mouths of actors, grim realities
Hack lung prayers they utter these, clothed bones skinned green like one drowned or diseased
The deceased given life, the living drained
Dreams from the Dark One deep beneath waves
Dreams from the Dark One to make men insane.
Alchemisland 
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