Alchemisland

Finding meaning and being moved by moon movement

Like wall decals in an indecisive gal’s room

Rooted stars abandon their routes

Nightsky a bric-a-brac bazaar of spent Titans

And skewered lightlings whose expired brightnesses lie to us about paradises

The holy rood of the old Tsars empallids the right road, the tighter path

Strung out like a new guitar, don’t need the nugget just a shard

Enough to get me started, helping hand a whole arm, a life of art

Is a life of false starts and barking tummies

Of paints gone hard in tubes due to digs lacking radiators, going to dos

With the latest to do it, perusing periodicals daily for name mentions

Everything so circumspectly gay and easy in retrospect

Was grey and terrible, nothing ever went as expected

Around my neck I wore two miraculous medals

hey left Marian impressions on my chest when I slept pillow front of head

And I never felt less protected

I used to get down on my knees, begging between poems

Tearfully blubbering about what I’d give up for one reader

Neither riches nor lover’s twitches concern my wishes

Give me power, Djinn

To make flame-bright pictures, at which beholders wince

Give me all that glitters, give me bold halls, private smiths

Forging weapons for when we finally hit Heaven

Nothing lasts forever

The terrible death of Earth’s last denizen; just medicine.