Alchemisland

Water the colour, smell and thickness of fresh manure

Minus the bit of warmth that makes it endurable

Land’s incurable ailments pale and fade upon sailing

Nothing to a soul failing braces like leaning on the railing

Feeling the healing spray on one’s face, losing sight of the bay

Further out, further like a stray without furtiveness, urgency

Of flight, land’s alighting much delights the inner fire

Which speaks in adventurous motifs, dreams of kerchiefed knights

Smiting the drake having taken the brunt of his dragonfire, nights

Arabian, plains in the Swabia where strange aliens make haste

To derangements, each wave which strikes the vessel’s side is forceful

Feeling all the pain, unbraced, of a sudden train derailment

Even the stoic captain so steely, stiff and upright per his kind loses face

The ship sways like the swaying pendulum in a glassfaced clock

Rocketing from side to side

Threatening to rock the coffining box

Wind in conference, in a murderer’s confidence.