Alchemisland

Coded filth my open coda brings them in

Ding ding my swinger detector pings

Down in the brig asking lipsticked pigs why caged birds sing

They’re hoping I can fill the holes in their soul

I give them a sole rose then treat them like open goals

Treat them like middens, gone once their ridden

The poems don’t stop

Part of the deal I got is they have to drop

Gone still hot the second they’re written

Feedback slim to none, view count dismal

But I know a gift at fingertips

And that there’s gold glinting in my epistles.