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Pagan Hellmass
Rabid Cthulhu fantasists raving Supplanted from blast’d heath To the rat heat of yon townships Upturned fruit crates, Jim Larkin hands Preaching hatred, lessons of Atlantis Mankind must learn again, vantage Heaven, whence men seem menace The world will be as a Venice. Men living still weeping Clinging to poles above water’s lip Sun eclipsed…
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Hurtful retrospect; life’s scant accounting
What is life but mayhem barely grasped Actions performed clasping hissing asps Wroth what, louder sound amongst sounds Storm dormant little envies that raging now What the championship sash but wraps to cloth cerement on your death Earthen firmament cloven doth oven heat’d eat stink with slight ceremony When the presiding priest is seen frightened,…
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Washing of Hands
Death what but chance taken Priest barded charblack armour Gospel ardour, holds his arms Water pure cascading ewer Holy waste unfit a sewer Circles sacrarium’s grate.
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Bygones
What whilst walking to craw affixes is considered little at lapping Styx Skeleton fixtures, smoke and acrid admixtures furling from fissures You will not think about when, in third class, you were spurned by Richard Nor will you regret having left a house’s – now another’s – ailing fixtures unsutured You will not cry at…
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Alchemisland 