Sliced-lid eye
Nothing undescried
Utterly undesired, once described unkindly
As not the writerly kind.
Sentient bones naturally loathe the maker of their aching
Third eye mine, third lucky try and I’m
Over the gate. I already gave my stained glass portion to Satan
The acid eats away that which is not image, the graven face
Childhood mining for my own Midas lines
Ill-defined messages, from uncertain time
It is portent or memory, lure or caution.
Alchemisland 
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