Alchemisland

I will be thrown from the Tarpeian Rock The fate of all traitors The flight which purports to decide between diers and angels Slicing open the light, hoping to find Opals worth tonight’s coke and pints.

In fugue states akin mental derangement, I gather and arrange smashed plates Whose serrated shards cut my artless hands apart. Mars accepts the token of my laceration as lasting allegiance; Two legions on the march immediately, The Campus Martius bleeding pristinely.

Duck down worn down, worn out a lot Worn out this fleet shield Bravely has sustained a profusity of blows Beyond the intent of its goat-parted maker. The sleekness and flow of its Greeklusting facade, I wondered oft how it was made; How loud Hippocrene’s creamless flow had been transposed so?

At art. In an end of yard pervert’s wristblurring fervour, The parlour’s palatable urges never seemed further before. My mortar-guarded softness is girdered, furtive and cautious Twenty gruelling stairwells up have I stuck An unsubtle sign. In bold print, font size 25: Only twenty storeys more until you’re a fifth the way to the topmost…