Voidlamp in hand, asp in lap
The lucent crab’s jewelled clasps fasten
To the battle cloak running down his master’s back.
My avoidant candle yet withstands.
A capful of borrowed coins, and the poise of a cat
On cloud-cottoned towertops, the clogged corridors
The clotted, the discerner watched me
As Turner might have watched a ship in storm, washed clean
Life-shorn and gleaming new by the scouring scorn
Skinning May’s soul and fashioning from it a fashionable stole
The spit-shined facets of the gems she wore to thwart inattention
During her famine visits, unlike any you or I ere saw
All the moordew’s shine fixed on her officious gown
A cold lady with baroque taste
And Wallachian persuasions.
Alchemisland 
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