Looking upon that frail image
Of dashed innocence handsome
Fractured armature obscene, needless casualty
Why, Jove?
Bleeding for loves which in actuality
Divorced from lover fantasy
Could never happen
Young captains cut down standing
Loaves never to leaven, for them heavengoing
Like a crab crushed, rushed by gulls
Never to grow to a man full
Ushered by broken, livingseeming visage.
She shatters silence’s mirror
Utterances defiant, she unpliant
Blames him, dubs wasteful life’s taking
Where fits aching breast on staked bracer
You alone set this worthless trial
Nothing here unfurl my smile
My hand still mine
I bid you, all, fair bye.
She stirs to leave
One heel stirring
He as if a sleeve
Had clasped, backdragging
Opens his mouth, loudly sounding
Her name, which no scribe rounding
His letters better each time confesseth
In his mind’s gaol such prized assizes impounding against ignobling
Ten men have I slain
With my own blade
Truth utterly conveying
Without feigning, fey.
He spites those smited;
To the conquered, woe and dry throat;
To winner all goeth: crown, oath, throne.
Tired of poetic prating
Lame let pages fill
Thoth’s illness quill-budding
Ink spilling, killing every bald inch
Tattooing Papyrus with submissive pleas, plied to please
Eliding your wise eyes, Mistress Owl.
He shows her true masculinity;
Urinates onto this dead man’s face
Nameless remaining,
Whilst laughing elatedly
Clapping once belatedly, away waves them
Soon taken – dragged, gorgets clareted
Breaches gushing on beaches
Guts gleaming on gull beaks
All for two’s preceding peak
As through curtains beaded, at the jewel of you
Few see, fewer touch
A bird fluttering at less than a branch crunching
Cageless utterly.
Into her
I would kiss could I win her.
Rare wines which Sultan’s slaves try before dining,
Divine blooms lionmaned, Edenic as
O’ercanopied Ogygian idylls;
These with which I would affection ply.
Consideration’s least, bleak commiserations
Where once as from geysers vaprous steam issued
My breast’s ored chalices lacking matter
This last often floods now by least flattery
Thinking only you, trysting
My Isolde, blameless Trystan
Is this not a tale told holding tissue?
I am at cards, with pasteboarding gambols
Knowingly cheating; you double deal, secret monarchs upsleeve
Dreamily staring
I affixed to you
Eyes, held in situ
Ropes betwixt my stirring heart and your cathedral’s uncaring black brick
Bitumen to stymie tides at the divine bucket kick
All the world rendered Babylon, of the Fish.
Alchemisland 
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