Considering wholesale embrace of evil
Seductive favour better for teasing
Than a bowl of vinegar. Quiet as treason the slow change in me.
Less like the resolution of last season
Than a chiefly specimen dying slowly
Of Dutch Elm Disease
A wasting away wheeze by wheeze
Until at last this phlegmous me ceases breathing
Odd how on the night I died
Every clock in the house stopped like mired destriers, at half past three
Dreaming of Paris, of Trieste
Dreaming someone else’s dreams of the 20th century.
Getting someone else’s weight off my chest
Succouring flavour, sabre-sharp nippletip
Of she in permanent labour
Who bays while we feed.
We are bathed when she bleeds.
Wheezing out these seedy screeds is easy
My potion stops dreams
And makes me feel what I presume are emotions.
My eyes had at their sides
Short red lines
Like maps on pamphlets about local cruises,
Old bruise blue ocean perusers,
Which a mind-shut portcullis occluded.
Furtive Fortune’s fast horsed,
Caution’s lord and portion’s lawmaker.
Alchemisland 
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