Alchemisland

My deloping heart ere first to fire Love a cold fire low and constant Two shot harts loping in concert Circling their killer, painting bloody loops  Carving furrow by dragging hoof. My heart aloof A fast starter Woofs at bark, I target The wrong tree. Braced, face covered  ‘Gainst resultant sparks

A busy scholar full of time and curious bother  Happened across my mossy hovel one morrow Right nasty and gross, rotlogged. Better works blazed below size eight typefaces Which only he, fox-graced, could trace. Great care changing and rearranging Yet caught despite.

I mugged God in a refuse-clogged laneway one rainy day. Imitation’s face always pale The impossible mimicking of my unwritten fragment  Found nowhere else, yet there in chalk upon the flags, Walked over unread then washed away when it lashes. In our pale-pigmented canon Imitation as rape flattery.

My roaming eye consuming all it descries Forming Roman times from desk debris Paper piles become temple sides High steps swept with birdblood in turbulent, ergot-coloured times. The neck-wrangling crook of my involuntary sigh Wrenches me from astral visions of a returning triumph Parading lowered chiefs and treasure piles The sheafs of the chief’s fasces…

Hacking up cupsful of unguentish gunk tonight This Irish hack’s elbow-backed sleeves Heavy with influence and nasal greenings. The unworthy student’s tutor’s seedy leavings are eaten. Tho’ amply penned with fleeting litres of eager ink Lasting sentence eludes, Whilst unworthy greeting card truisms provide o’er-effusive. Inanimate tractless golems these poems of mine, Unmine that stolen…