Alchemisland

You are the blaze which entices my rag-wrapped stick

Dipped to dick depth in a puddle of obsidian dinosaur gloop

For whom nobody wept

I took two of the tablets and slept like Rupert Brooke

I took fragments of the broken tablets to her labyrinth

To many, to most, she proved pole cold, o’er elaborate

But she had me in her chokehold

My occulted gladness surfaced in profusity.