Alchemisland

Cracking knees limbs joints fingers hips

Producing mellifluous rhythmic crepitus

Shuffling crypt walker

Living aborted, death’s daughter

I walk, sound like falling detritus

When I leave and it won’t be immediately

You hear bones pealing as I peel myself

Raising swears, eyes ceilinged

Moving as one mired in grief

Shuffling unappealingly as through porridge

A thing’s peel, my core and golden gore exposed

Feathered plume fetching shorn

Adorned now only by torn edges

Hints of former form

Palimpsest of my old obsessions, now meaningless

I am hearttorn Cressida, leaving Ilium with licentious Diomedes.