For a consumptive waif
Babe still
I volunteered to wait
Morning ’til
Upon sill alighting, ’til dawnlight
In her society.
All night I was to wait
Stillstaying
A priest to pay my wage
Tuppence day
For pay such men slay demons, eh?
Nods me away.
Figured muchly would enjoy it
Humour’d mordant
But when I went as called
Fated Cawdor Thane
I found it an oppressive cold
Poor entertainment.
I felt not safety’s surfeit in that holy church
Winds winnowing windowless
In mirthless chamber a staking Endymion, innocent
Bulk inching
Blinking as if reconfirming, upon her nailed door that innocent
A scratching
Would spring open had it hinges unleashing
Sights injurious
Change strikes the dead indigent, evilly translating
Gold curl
Unfurling, curling to casket’s ogee
Decode.
A cough
As kissed into living fist
Short shrift
From where I’m sitting
Still living
Something ill within that coffin.
Alchemisland 
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