Alchemisland

Dressed up, dolled up like a clown whose wont is to be probed

All manner of seedy beastliness kept hush by a few, who know.

Now I know how Simeoisios felt

Svelte and fleet, a dancer’s feet, keen.

Dead now, no more will be seen

Tell the bees

Only yesterday it seemed

He weaned from teet

Screaming, gaining teeth

Gripping father’s index finger

Gripping spear’s haft

Unmoist palms belying great confidence at arms

He would not die, yet he died there

The first in his line

He shrieked as he ran down the hill, defiant

The spear met him

Protruding like a berry-bathed birdbeak from his back.

Now he is gone and mysteries dissipate

Lakes form from his ruined flank

And he goes there

To the forward that is back,

Mastering land management and birdspeak.