She stirs my glad glands, tropic
Permanent shrug if I’m holding
My image one eye like Odin, glitch wizard
Which glyph is it? Lots, in fact most I withhold
Well sus though, so I hold back to scope it
Backstab phobic, mind closed it’s a bintop open
Opened the door wristtwisting motion, half four
Swung open, you could hear a pin drop on the floor
Crack slab going short notice, below a bridge like a troll
Or God’s banker with a pocket full of stones
Masonic angles and gang signs, threw those my followers rose
Told him hang tight when he rang desiring nose
Books inside books inside books, in breastnooks ducat-coloured cameos
Its writer, lightless, tall, and full of darkness
Like a giant’s stout pint or a haunted skyscraper
In the ark of odd stars his likeness; wind his cypher, hark.
Alchemisland 
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