Alchemisland

Ass like Anasazi petroglyphs, hand print after print

Turning archaeological remains to dust, leading Glanton

Poems weren’t moving the needle cashwise, moved to scalping

I don’t mean that I’m holding tickets for whatever gig you’re hoping to get into

Judge Holden, I’ll judge you and I’m always holding

Eight years writing, tireless thankless scribing, 800 copies sold

Which came first, the brain or bathroom mould

Moving through the underground, Katabasis; soul mole

Did fire in the booth and drowned it, poof

Of smoke, craving burn in throat

Laughing like Farthing Wood stoat

My house antiquely styled like a Byzantium

Rimmed by a moat

Limn in my throat

I am an invoker

A ruby centres my choker, and chakra

Everyone ducking me, Shavkat

I make breezes just by asking

More degrees than an Indian thermometer

Turning into an insect, Franz Kafka

My ribald ballads are chargers;

Rabid marmadukes, bounding after

I have little choice but to craft them

All my knowledge is olden

My old Allfather is Odin Wotan

My lawn walked over by Olwen

I’m in Cornwall with the Owlman

Asking to interview Mark Jenkins

Corn kings, cut them down man!

Spring comes like foliate vengeance

I’m living at Starve Acre on a miner’s pension

Communing with Gods whose names I can’t mention

My good mood comes monthly, lunar, menstrual

I’m trying to prove nothing, trying to remove all censure

I make the move on you when I feel the chemistry, sexual

My brilliance flying into the air, bright colours like I shot a hex.