Alchemisland

All night my jaw grinds All is will and law binds I ever will and do abide I think in tidy pints Or tiny tinctures of suicide.

A rush of blood no love, however motherly, could stanch A sounding blow drowned his rope-tied foundling robes The ground below groaned, blushing like a russet standard In abandon, Eden’s blasted heath opened beneath their standing feet Sending up reeking blasts of massive heat from Sheol’s meat-fed fires. A turf-wreathed maw full of rarely seen…

Join and be part my noisy fantasies In cloying daydream’s ungraspable moray darkness I chase frantically across Arcadian landscapes a one-handed priest, His wind-jazzed chasuble making napkin geese. To aid fleetness jettisoned both napsack and fleece Printing our brief melee Upon the mage-favoured leys of a hazy, laneless chase.

Poets mothing to mossy tales regaled by now-coughing Homer To whom everything is owed Toward whom every cap doffs The occupation’s captain When man became his God And Greece his world capital.