Alchemisland

Hearts bard-carved, spark starved

Waiting impatient for starful starts

Wading creation for heart-pull arts.

My blazeous weed’s gaseously trapezing

Arm reaches rafters more graciously these efficacious evenings;

Your tree-seeding fingers spiff-gripping where it closest tapers.

Tell from how this hotel’s ell-measuring elms of casement-entering light

Caper around glyphs we drew upon our cliffs, carapace paper, last night:

A scarab ring glowing ringing phone in the cinema bright;

A ring from ancient Rome, made of noisome scorpion opal and anthracite.

Closeness atop tables. My deranged sabre lops at doorway strangers

Whether they be mailmen, Mormons, or thinly-disguised angels. Furze

And fern, I turn a perfect burnished cube for the entombed earning word.

Fumes skew my berg’s view. An unstilled quill’s silver effluvia creates you.

Term ends today. I won’t turn in, determinedly, although work is fairly due;

The worst you, burning eternal like next year’s vernal interned at Inferno.