An old man with one eye
His right hand he hides inside
The folds of a tattered cloak
His robes likewise threadbare, to his fasted body fastened by a rope
Brought night by brumal minds
An attractive religion of bloodied stones and hopelessness.
In my favourite derangements
I imagined myself part of some fierce pack
Inside my mind rumbling sounds, as of pack ice breaking apart
Courses another charted, to disparate stars
To bring to boring worlds the vein-expanding arts of Mars
Causes and effects, ends chasing starts
Cruel April facing down xanthous March
Jaundiced legions with necks like neglected giraffes marching out
Long-necked legions with unpleasing faces
Jaundiced and hate-beleaguered.
Alchemisland 
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