Alchemisland

Rapid southgoing

An anvil grasper sledging down Mount Snowden, only clammier.

Deflated by ascent’s prospect

Trudged I, toboggan temper mine dragged behind like a hoplite delegged,

Carving odd and binding lines in the sludgy muck. Miles

Many and more a-come.

A life like a tribe laws require

Emptily medieval are mine

Confined to increasingly circumspect times

Those uncertain lines who derive their divine rights

From wolfen Assyrians with seared flesh diets

Twenty years watching leaves fall like unsteered spitfires

While pulling my beard. A lifelong sit tight.

What he bade bigger grew;

Nearer she drew, attuned his tuneful aloofness.