Delving into Fulcanelli, every oven an athanor
Long indoors, in the walls, Elizabeth Bathory
I use her last blood and milk bath to moisturize
Secret laboratories behind every vandalised shutter in Venice
Shuddering to recall the faceless denizens menacing in my alembic
On the phasing surface the stretched and bizarre face of an undine
Screaming demons in portentous green, bubbling seething
Sights to see which unseat, the carriage of the sea king
Is seen by the seer, the seeker, the winged freak, the alchemical week
Crowned by exalted shabbat, the melting pot produces rotten egg reek
Tapering smoke labouring towards the diminutive hole, choked with magic smoke
Darkness’ cloak robes the sloping shoulders of the cold-looking world
In a wanting ear whispering a kindly, needed word, turning the worm
Turning the curls of her hair, furling a lock, squirelling at the lockbox of her thoughts
Her smock is fraught with awesome jewels, which glowed when lightcaught, sought
Happiness without, tasting ashes in my mouth, the mounting dread, counting mounds
Down the ages, the weight of crowns and the weight of read pages, wrest from the dead
Restful my headache fades which plagued for days, wince-inducing sunlight shade
Seeing the blocks from which I am made, blocks paves and cobbles, bricks and knowledge
Sticks and things hard to swallow I can easily trick myself into disbelieving.
Alchemisland 
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