Alchemisland

Madness of dogs

Glory-hogging stars, boxes full of faraway Grenfell fires

Burning churches of a bell-less age, fateful as starfall these strange days

Cards fanned prophetically across the table’s forked-clay velvet coverlet

A palm extended expectant, silver slapped like cash-strapped Judas

Recalls fates, later days, marital arrangements

Pertinent dates, whether death awaits

Faraway or closer than one knows to the house’s gates, veil like a grate

Her sectioned face I regret having paid starts to take pleasure in my pain

My face strainworn unto a storm of converging lines, like a train map

For engineers when trains reach impasses

In paths that they cannot steer past.