Fields fertilised with blood from executed men
Bloodmade mire, fen eels who tasted flesh
In sight of verididerm Osiris
Irish farmers plant Yankee praties in shallow lazy beds
In sallow sedge, on the scarcest cragged edge of liveable land
Upward tending land blasted with stone
Handing over to rootless mountains of height beyond accounting
Stickish, hungry handsome, tweedclad
Songthroated Pope lovers, land of sacred oaks hosts blokes with prominent cheeks girls squeal over
Dragging inland to familiar leewards basketfuls of saltine seaweed gathered sea breeze accompanied on jellyfish-cursed beaches
Where a band of slick, razor rocks with frock-flimsy pampooteys plays havoc.
Locks lopped off shorn short, princess in horror at what she saw after court
Her lover calling himself loyal hound greyfriars, looked into her eyes and lied
He divided her lips, better to let her sigh
He let slide in his silence some device
Some hateful design in mind harboured, long casked sweetening arbour
Last night in the parlour she sensed some artifice, he was fake as the fixtures, as the parris plaster cornice and ornate frontage
Plumage, bunting, distracting from a visage affronting
He says last night whilst hunting he was confronted by a friend, who confided in him some resentment amongst kith regarding his impending nuptials
Seeing her offended, he says this friend had no intention of impeding, far was that from mention
His sentence offered no censure, it had been said as meant
His insistence ensured she leant no credence
The truth lends itself credibility by self evidence
Her summiting scried the ceiling seeded with ersatz seraphs in gold leaf sashes wearing quivers full of holy arrows, she steels his presence and will not grant sympathy’s scabbiest ounce to this chancer
As food unremarkable, commonplate, is rendered kingly by guts fasting, he said testing distance would enhance love’s chance at lasting
By Ark I would travel to Europe, perchance to gay France, where I would emerge further myself amongst the arts, sketching native plants
She thought but never said I bet you will spend your days downing native pants
Seaweed hair of the ocean shed amidst commotion and floated hence, like tendrilled hunks of some beached leviathan
Dwarven grass unblazing where blade winds trace, sickly gray hay.
Alchemisland 
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