Alchemisland

That loud silence abounding where dead men reside,

Whether struck down by cast pilum in prime, or past,

Dead dropped in fields, on yawning pasture

Dreaming of land deals.

*

Lunate etchings decorated the ex-patient’s stretched flesh,

Eas’ly flens’d acquiescent skin, leathern and nesting legends.

Scarab-back black, ashcatcher’s tongue, my backward sun.

Bad batch’s worst rung. Third tree’s second onion. Worst son.

King-making only way attaching tightly my kin vermins’ tails.

*

Low shelf gin high proof and German vermouth as sin reprover.

Remove a minute with a room-spinning dose of tooth remover.

Two conk out pinners reprieve my Gronk heart’s pinned hurts.