The lash whip colludes with guilty skin against a ship’s central flue
My fast twitch moods
Brood with chimp changeability
A sky in moody gold deemed too dear in cost for plebians to behold.
There are those among us gifted with strange abilities, so I am told.
The cold main course of my line-toeing life
No coursing tides nor chorusing sirens
The white of an eye the same as that silence which overcame;
I saw my ship break in the shadow of His ancient trident.
Alchemisland 
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