Alchemisland

Galling day, I was taken

In this abrasive place shedding finer shape, scraped to bare graven

Here shaking frail, faint growing, amazed how utterly spent I feel

With only 33 turns of the wheel hardening my feet

Better to tease the weakness all must fail to flee

Once-vivid recall of appallingly spent days

Lost now like dim patrons in a vim-sapping maze

Built against the wisdom of jaded adages.