Alchemisland

Inviting all to stop and view it with unhooked jaw

Choreographing their last dances, the loons

Bright enough to deny night, this time

My poems are writ, my teeth shining

A bed so big, entering requires climbing

I am a habit creature to the bone

My sleepgoing a matter of precise timing

I sit down on the throne, cold porcelaine icy

Old port salut and porkchops spilling out, spicy

Wind down not enough, doesn’t cut mustard

I need bluster, down a full bottle of wine at bed’s cusp

Hoping it’ll send me under

A humble lullaby when I need one hundred.