Even the king of the Gods
Old now, rotten log
Wrath’s steering absconds
Abandons like a dog unwanted
Manless mountains and mounded bounty
To stalk the lanes of strange, haunted counties, where walk countless
The deranged.
To walk among these queer creatures, his appearance he cauls
But his cowing fearlessness, dowl-kin beard, communion with owls
Mark him out starkly ‘midst any crowd.
His visage single-eyed. One’s vision tunnelled suddenly emerges unto
The entrance of a cave covered by the rubber-melting
Self-enchanting gaze of late visiting Polyphemus.
His eight-legged steer, only a keen fellow gets near,
Be a firebreathing maneater, from a stable in Greece
Raving Herakles the famous name, the family slayer,
Visited during physical labours unstable Gods gave him.
Alchemisland 
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