A rush of blood no love, however motherly, could stanch
A sounding blow drowned his rope-tied foundling robes
The ground below groaned, blushing like a russet standard
In abandon, Eden’s blasted heath opened beneath their standing feet
Sending up reeking blasts of massive heat from Sheol’s meat-fed fires.
A turf-wreathed maw full of rarely seen teeth smiled vilely, greenly;
Sheathed dentistry a heathered, sucking bogtop endlessly keeps,
Beside its king bones, shit-like butterlumps, and chariot spokes.
Alchemisland 
Leave a comment