Worshipping dogs and reptiles
Tiled floors in holy houses loud with the blood of tied slaves
Waves may be shouted down, if the right wand is waved
When counts. Where less so.
What will last longer, my poems or a plastic bag from Tesco?
Bleeding, dying affixed to staves, my dinner guests
Their cravings largely unsated
Nothing understated, every piece screams statement
Dressed in stressed velvet navy, gems gleaming, looking disco-ready
Half-demon but don’t tell the priest, already
A dark God’s cravings key to the creation of my ravings
These raven-dark playthings
This stooped, lame maven come to replace me
Raven dark the inner ark when an acolyte extinguishes the flames
Barking signals the start of Dog Days
In each brazier caged hearts in safekeeping
Frescoes depicting mystical history:
The dying stay, the dead are saved, drawn from graves
Like ritual dirt in the black-nailed hand of a witch.
Rites observed since wave-ringed a swaying
Saviour sang creation from his island place.
Alchemisland 
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