Alchemisland

Jealous grass hates the glass hearted rose My ever-swaying gates froze halfway When the glade-dark of her blade-sharp shadow Blazed like the craven kin of matter along that lane Where in the year’s lateing frail leaves natter and scrape Like castaway playthings in a dollhouse hurricane.

Both sets of genitals sprouting from the face Like the hideous orgiastic plants of a miniature world Contained entirely within one bead of brown-tinged sweat Inside the enormously capacious asscrack of a Bosnian joiner Bent over a set of chairs A famously wealthy baron commissioned as a wedding gift For his indigent one-eyed son Wotanicalifornia…

What I do today impacts directly What comes next Or so it seems in my head Which in the end As director Provides those inflections.

Five gold-purple pied eggs it’d take a big skillet to fry. He’s gone now; His undisguised sun-haunted soul absconded, Beyond mind, the old meat years left behind, Off to try that oft-discussed angel-buttered chicken fillet roll in the sky.