Alchemisland

I am gone beyond desiring anything resembling eventful in my life

The trials and strifes of an earlier iteration of Mike

I leave behind like a comrade who I never liked now lagging behind

Under enemy fire, in a field of mines.

Below the pergola cooled by rose shadows, finally accepting.

I’m not the sort, you know, overpursed, sore, and regretful,

Addicted to wretching purgatives, trying to wrestle the past

Into some pleasing version before the hearse comes hurtling past.

However, I am the type who makes strange deals with the devil

On unlevel midnights.