Alchemisland

Riddle. Thought.

Little lot

Kitted, got

Purple dots

Persil, not. Eternal knot

Cursive, brought

To blood-bought life

My knifemind’s misbegottens.

Wordsmith. Softens.

Caught her, now life.

Acéphale’s neck cauterised.

Weekends tended throatwise

Goat, both thighs cum-striped

Nighttime finery in endless supply

Wick-leant liming light. A winey hellbulb’s strident fire.

Civic wrongs. In a rented Civic, monged. Hitting bongs. Hitting gongs.

If I want it now, the whole damn clock’s wrong.

Summoning wholecloth dragons out of something something bags

Something so new it still has tags, new car fumes. New Khartoums.

Her effusive cartouche maroons my once-diffuse wants:

I am focused, glowing; going pole position, fast as a cokestowing paddy.