Alchemisland

The line you toe has its fine hold. My mind’s holding cage

Espies you magpieing in fine gold, blazing. Aztec fire, Prussian shade

Everything has its time and rushing’s vain.

“I don’t take wine” she pointed her anointed knife toward my rushing veins.

Cold, grim and frostbitten, throat-focused. Ice-lipped, vice-committed, some Russian vein.

You are plainly some unlately pharaoh’s latest iteration. There’s no way it’s all fucking Wales.

And when you tire, it’s OK, go

I have learned to survive on dayglo scraps, plastic and shards of glass

Like some abyssal vent-sucker, way down deep in the bath: Cthulhu Fhtagn.

I don’t have to strain to imagine

Graceful princesses and incinerating dragons

Hair hitched together, tents pitched together. Against predators circling wagons

I’m that type: ‘look what the cat dragged in’

Meanwhile she’s timely beauty’s primary scion; in and of Eden, fern-wreathed

I can see the seeded earth burning beneath her seething feet

I sign the deed’s terms like a world defeated; she makes forever seem fleet

She makes wherever heavenly, and puts to rest my seeking.

She is sent. She descends. Her good sense wends

Two threads, we take either end and tied them together, tight as friends

I the scentless who cannot end a sentence without her breathless mention

Am wreathed in the heady breath of her spring wreath censer