Cracking: knees, limbs, joints, fingers, hips.
On account of my crepitus, currently sounding like a crypt walker
When I creep up holding this;
Sound like falling detritus
When I leave and it won’t be immediately,
You will hear my bones pealing as I peel myself,
Raising swears and eyes to the ceiling.
Moving griefful, shuffling unappealingly, as if through porridge
A peel of a thing
My core, golden gore and feathered plumed fletching gone
Shorn, adorned now only by torn edges
Hints of former form
Palimpsest of old obsessions, digressions, turns taken
Learnt lessons, what doesn’t cause demise never lessens.
I am heart torn Cressida leaving Ilium with licentious Diomedes,
Love maddens tongues to Bedlam-fitness, a frothing plea.
Watching her skiff trailing across the sea, away from me
My love outcoming, with shorn blood’s immediacy.
Alchemisland 
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