Alchemisland

Emerging pruned from the pig-hoofed bath

Hair matted, a savaged back

Rilles now the old slashes, once angry gashes

Winged crests and clandestine invitations

Cloaked daggers and degree-earning recitations

Cross-referencing his letters

That reverse S shape of the Rs, like curved shillelaghs

For the peelers presiding, valuable pathological lessons about the worse ones in hiding

You can be sure there are always going to be bigger spiders than the ones you’re eyeing

It has to be tonight because it must be hot when you strike the iron hard, siring sparks

Enough sirens that even money-insulated tyrants remark

“Has it started?”

Black as a marker sniffer’s nose the code-knowing night

Cold outside, but colder here beside the ocean

Grids, alleys and warren roads

Secret oaths, seeking odes, and what names they rose.