Alchemisland

Well bred Predator

Threat level red if the scope’s scraping my head

Red liquid fills my pen, menses-red

Smoke-clouded mentis, a better sense

Some sentences better never read over, unedited

Struck through like ancient soldiers

When their foes those fateful gutchewing spears threw from Ilium’s roof

Black candle communion, energy coursing through obelisks

Dressed as if for funerals, giving old codgers knee wobblers

My odalisques take no issue trysting, so dutiful and unchristian.