Alchemisland

For the last time: Hannibal ad portas!

The formerly studious now permanently stewed crowded port casks

Dreams of reamed flesh, fresh blood spilling as from poured flask

Sad bedhopper dress dropping showing guests a ruined back, poor lass

Above the mantel beside his campaign cutlass, master’s paindrinking lash

My drink he ensured was poured last

Atop whatever slights I was invited to endure

The meat upon serving he pawed fast, manners adjured,

His emphatic fingers shone metallic with grease 

This fat tyrant like a painting of Syracuse by a mainland Greek.

He laughed as I channelled oration’s masters: Hannibal ad portas!

They must see

I must make them see this quake of changing mayhem.

He laughed long but Hannibal, ad portas, laughed last

In the end.

Indecent men deemed pawns surpassing

This unJetson’s world’s ruins like jetsam after Actium.