My roaming eye consuming all it descries
Forming Roman times from desk debris
Paper piles become temple sides
High steps swept with birdblood in turbulent, ergot-coloured times.
The neck-wrangling crook of my involuntary sigh
Wrenches me from astral visions of a returning triumph
Parading lowered chiefs and treasure piles
The sheafs of the chief’s fasces inspire lasting lealty in heathen tribes.
Alchemisland 
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