Poised with lips parted, as if to make a loud noise
Mouth vouches nothing my hastening visceral urn couches
Itching as a worm turns, tunnels burning
Above it tumult and rumble
Waked drake flamebathes corn-readied swards
Forths, firths and farthings, acres and oxgangs hedgegirdling
Brought to burning bubble
Like boiled steel, or effluvial admix roiling rejoicing
Retranslating in the alcheme’s lembics.
In fire fused to cogent whole
What aparted them as skin departed them but soul
Fire’s incision, James Joyce stabbing art fiery restart to Queen’s English
Flames orange as her obnoxious corona begin licking Lizzy First, feet first.
In exchange for Dee’s wife’s pleasure, Mr Kelley happy to make up words
Any demeanence Dr Dee endures at demons’ behest, deeming pure
Dubious lures, spurious knowledge once-prided mind pries apart
Made less, like the byre strewn with muck and hay at day’s end
Our language from hands taken in heart remains
Neither lash nor gun nor famine nor grave will take our tongue away.
Alchemisland 
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