Conspiring beauty enlivens the o’er admiring, who can blamed be
Oars untiring carry troopful triremes from Athens out beyond Tyrens
Light of wifely eloping, political hopefuls lend armies’ opals to doomed cause
Alliances swiftly made are like to stray, unlike those well founded, which firmly stay
Time which tests
Never be impressed at breast-stirred feeling as fealted lips hands press
It is all a glamour, words hammers against the mottos of your banners
It is a time of anarchs, battles hours in planning are put into action.
A thousand in that fleet, maybe
They clogged the bay
Sails blowing raspberries
It was before the day
Of a thousand tragedies.
Hector yet lived, practising arms in statued courtyard
Open air bronzes armless Ares, wearing dresses rare snaking ivy
Never knowing his corpse would be savagely dragged around beloved Troy
All for a boy’s insolence
Nothing mattered in that instance, when you have felled another
When your arms bite true, cleaving clean, hot blood spattering face and blade
A boy remade a man, grenade dispensing death along sands, staining red which ran
Reach that spanned from Grecian ships
Rites on lips to Zeus of disembarkation who sired their nation from a more maternal relation which Robert Graves evinced by mistake
To the breachless walls of long-preached-of Troy, of Priam
Blows like hammers, armaments forged in vast foundries by stuttering Hephaestus
Arrows rain down upon parked galleys, as Myrmidons sally up temple steps
Wetting blades on sacred maidens who never made little demises, and priests, surmising
That all those who died were pleasing to Poseidon, whom they prided as their foremost idol
With rival-cowing trident, watery influence ribald and lively.
Catalogue of ships in that navy, per hidden pages which I have seen
On a dark Cairo backstreet I had seen another man coming forth from with armfuls of curious texts I went this way that
Turning eventually west unto my destination
Cluttered desk of which shopfront comprised
Behind which lurked books berthful in shadow
Dust motes madly danced, I was antsy to be inside
Having fancies plenty
Fantasies of folios, rare first editions purchased cheaply, seditious undercutting.
My wicked ways, a muttering man came forth from that gloom
Womb of texts, codices listing names of disappeared diseases and hidden Caesars
Lost messhiahs, antique machines whose revealment would shatter science and timeline
Scattering them, dust of all popes
Wall-groping revelations, sinners calling up unto heaven for bread leavened into flesh
They remain clothed in bonding skin while honest blesseds fly to Kether, now essence
I bought enough books to fill my chest, thirty I could not leave there in good conscience
That humid, unappreciative air which spoils declarations therein, away that squalid lair I went
Walking as a Laird might about his land, striding a Titan, until I returned to my pleasant apartment and scattered them across the bedtop.
Literature midden, ink spilling
God’s hidden names plainly written by shameless rabbis in antient time, Golem-vivifying scribbles occulted into Czech riddles
Each words’ middle letter studied unfetters some hidden denizen
Mystical numbers, puzzling tenses, things which were and things which are not yet
Is the future set, to what extent is free will allowable in a world of fates
Are we born or made great, are we destined to heightened statelyness, higher states
Or cursed to this vast, spinning grave, awaiting some far-sent doomsday
I pore over books, inhale what they say
Strange sages whose laughter is heard through pages, sonorous, paling and ear-impaling
Binding with bailing twine books worse-bound, coming apart in fistfuls
Reading the start of some, bulk of others
Finding brother texts to those earlier sampled
Handfuls of related words stirring my brain
Merging my knowledge into a shameful tapestry
Could it be that all we know as history is fantasy and falsehood
A bronze bull of Apis lavished with glass-delicate prayers
Which should be shot into open air in the glaring, staring sun.
False lambency, man’s tendency to enhance galactic standing beyond reasonable portion
I find my view of time and event distorted utterly
Holy men, these men of letters say, were none other than scornful bullies and whoresons
They ordered pregnant nuns aborted, cavorted with whores whilst wearing official seals
Indoors under St Paul’s majesty committing travesties
I will not dwell long on those facts which would send weaker minds rabid, flinging them to incautious rebellion
I would delve further into my lost Homer’s, which tell more of homeland from whence heroes set out
Sundrowned olive land, where white hart pronounce
Where gold measured not by ounce but by stone
Where cow-headed thrones are oded by one-eyed Odins from Homer’s colleges, his protégés.
A list of curious names grace the page I am engaging:
Robertus Graveius, Heaven’s Lathe, Kincaid, Bathsheba
Tantalus, Cernunnos, Angelus, Tír na nÓg, Sídhe an Brugha
Achilles, Andromeda, Patroclus, Androcles, Herakles, Maimonides
Hermes Trismigestus there represented, wide-decked triple-masted ocean blaster
Grafted from peerless teke, captains swift-eyed
Fed by drafts from rafting rivers in Arcadia, streams hippocrene-clear
Oak-eked godvisages fore aft, birdheaded beaked bards and beetle-broached sand queens with posed arms
No rafts for roughnecks sworn to Agamemnon
Secret ceremony given only once, daughter’s blood for goodly winds
Hapax legomenon, he feeds her to the sea beneath the sun
Summoning Krakens and godfavour, death-flavoured winds kick up, prows spun
Wars will won when royal blood pours forth, dyed red tides seething teethwhite tops, seed-seeded
They will conquer or ne’er come back
Resplendent with alchemical adornment, great horn of plenty at its helm as figurehead
Crewed by tongueless spellcasters
Others outlasted their cowardice: Apollo, Hathor, Thor, Thoth, Setanta, Fionn, Bastet.
Alchemisland 
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