Alchemisland

The last thing I remember of the harassed-ember disaster was that The ass-swept banister gleamt like fire-canvassed glass, and that Warping walls bulged like damp-prolapsed wallpaper. Alas, all ash.

Her flanking love moved as a formation of tanks does Recreating as best she could The terrible slaughter at Cannae, to varying result. The banker who exulted his bulk hangs before he sulks When the hulking market kicks the bucket. A pulpit loud with the shouting ghosts of another’s applause, I completed my speech skulking…

There is here and toing and froing Then there is the cold Plutoan All roads there lead Move aside Rome and meagre the man of Rhodes The breadth of Hell’s smallest flaming moat Goes on stretching forever. On naked beds, hot skin made flatulent contact.

Charity shops who support banning pangolin scale trades Or who aid blind Silurians Or help Biafran creative spastics onto trains They give you those ancient bags of immortal plastic Craggy with lines, raked finely With wide loops of thin elastic like anaemic McDonald’s emblems. In some bulbless, post-Event tumult One’s intact posterior becomes a trade…