Smasher of Pangea
Increate, grant strength
To rip myself from bed
And claw way to work
Panacea, melancholy’s antidote
Grail overflowing with serotonin.
Something niggling away inside me, ingrown nail
Thinking myself a failure, to mockers abeyant
Hidden fire, pyre strength alike which London undid, paling
That bridge falling down, famously
Falling with it, watertaking gown dragging me, dragging me
Sedge henge, they will never dredge my brinelogged remnant
Nor find the weapon of my wounding.
Alchemy’s gradual cessation
Stained alembics glazing over
Dust masking the laboratory door
Alas, valency’s end heralds invalidity
Where eloped my old urgency
Mild slope slowing, gradient odious
Birds sing tunelessly
Doleful threnodies unmelodious
Malodourous flowers like ruffed traitors scuffling rufous Tudor’s court.
I go but not far
Phlegm’d throat gross ocean adhesive catarrh
Leached by degree of paint sheen, unlustral
Until one day well’s drawn bucket heaves empty
An end to feeding
I am lustless, listless
Lumber in human effort.
I, once-wode foal, now
Could not flee my own murder
I am turgid, arranged by worry
Inserting myself, briquette by briquette, into a tophet
Legs made desertion’s instruments
Innocently diverted time and again, then called to die.
Leather worked over
Riddled with violent casements
Drawn by fate’s cruel awl
Soon, all my skin will be scarred
Soon, wounds no stitch can sew
Wounds which stay a future.
Cutting my mind in half
Papal bull goring sacred calf
Building it took half my life, all my savings
I stand, laughing madly
Discoursing with sand
Blood coursing through my splayed hands
Something moving, pitted in the vein
I feel my fingertips weighted, hot
Feeling almost to throb.
Alchemisland 
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