Alchemisland poetry

Tonsil tennis with a ten on ten who can work a pen

I was in a pen called independence

I was innocent, per every sentence

But sin’s scent incense heavy incest redolent

The brevity of her readiness astounds

The mood lifts as soon as it comes down

I am aroused

She goes down like a split cloud

A kissed chest

The mess of her ready's glint

Ices the rim of the pillow where she sits

So this is it.

Her curtained bed billows. It is me there instead

A plea that it will not forever be in my head.

Vagrant spark, I am your house and ark

Contrast starker having seen you starkers

I could but gawp oafishly, mouth agape goldfishly

At her robeless noblesse oblige

Please for me, less of lead

More of kneeling, less of freedom, less of release

More impeding, more needling

All good or all evil from one seedling

I’m steaming on green, still seething it's illegal

Now I’ve seen her I’ve put a face upon Athena

Now drapeless, bathed in Apollo’s rays;

Menace when I haven’t got my medicine

Lend me enough just to make a skeleton

Tennyson, I’m a spenny tenement’s tenth worst denizen

I’m brighter than the lights from Con-Edison

I’m using a child shield when lead goes hell for leather.

Gone sedatives, head’s gone around her relatives. For better

Or for worse but mostly for better I live in fast verbs

Swervingly and without fetters

I try to fly, without feathers

It’s glue should buy those who confuse

Grabbing poles with a bird’s tools

I want the jewel I found I cannot touch

Her dainty fingers denture white venture flighty

Across a pricey Steinway’s elephantine phrases

The air tastes of careless lace, first editions

Spice laced, the rosy studio of Wilde, welcome seditions

The piper, the rats, the limehouse mist

At Sandyford, the chance she called last

I missed like a lanyarded drunkard his Saggart-ward train,

Alas the tides which argonauts ride

Are those which foam at my thighs

My pockets full of stones

My heart full of spidery vice.

The one loss I cannot sigh away or toss aside

Finding that I am an aside, a struckthrough line.

Suggestions of severed connection

Privated skies, private places

Avenues, Heights, Mews, Gables

Imperial names hyphenated stately.

Between spaces, spaces between

A thing supreme

That kingly queen eclipses heretofores.

Her want snips my repellent cordons

That portal’s bore’s been exposed since.

My silver-scored palm examined it clammily

My filthy hands silt teeming did fit without cramming

Grownup daughter’s once-shiny toy left behind come collegetime.

Every night the blisterful sun’s unsightly oneness

Acknowledged those divided as ultimately united;

Despite mighty leagues of sea miles between, their peerers concealed

The same flailed star.

Tart with need I veiled neatly my treasons

Screwed apart my arm-chewed chainmail heart

On scarred knees, her need my reason

Her cold sored relief fleeting

As seasons become to one aggrieved.

My flushed cheek seeks the cold floor’s mushing cold sword feel

Chimeras twined

Features combined

Divine hermaphrodite

Coin portions

White noise

Torso contortions

Ice voice.

Gone my

Just try

Attitude

Full sprint

Full flattered

The stone I skimmed has come back from the liminal

Cast lines, last times, vast sighs

A shoulder quiet of my biting

She lion. Feline

Thoughtspeaks

My dream mind

Pristine. It seems I am offered

One proffered

From my deepest coffers

So above, preferable

Every digit as if dipped

In the Styx’s singeing tide.

With leveret quickness

My levered finger admixes;

Her pearl-tinged heaven

Pleasant silvers to the knuckle

The buckle of my letters.

My addicted finger

Present, please linger

Presentiments, fire-presenting tinders

Her minted insides

Might feel like

Tinned fruit and sweating dynamite,

Like defiling a foreign altar during wartime.

Whore light

Odalisque shine

The whole disc of the sun

Piss coloured on her tongue

We laughed at ever having needed whiskey to have fun

In the best possible way, nothing feels risky to say.

My stomach repeats

Like a voice recorder

Awaiting new orders

Nothing too sordid

Cutting two sworded

The wartorn chords

The Lord Forlorn

Wets my quill, refills me

I wish she would wet my quilt, the very conception kills me

Lapping at the half glass of asp milk she gesturing spilled

Unclothed, mauve-souled, save the quilting clover we rolled over

Moans like she promised a peacock might if I strove

Hard to hear on the right night

Somewhere hard by here I cannot reach with roving mere

She rides me like a stolen steer, nearer and nearer and it is never too near

No cost too dear. In the austere fire of my lost here dreams

Two deer accost a dishonest prophet

I the unhurried am unworried; let come what May

The best days of maizeneck-stretching May as June pales

All too hasty. There is no such thing as too pale

Two pails spilled out, their Rorschach splotch forming yetifrost

Words fail me

Whom word adores with scarlet cheek;

Tickled fancies long lambent

She wrote slammish in perfect iambic

Every glimpse she provided uprighted me, oniastic nights

I only ask nicely.

The relief of ice

Her thighs might provide

I imagined her wide smile

That Midas rifle, alive with orgiastic delight

Did we demand it, did we ask it

Do we have a hand at all at all

In anything that happens

Where she lotused showed a dampened patch

Everything I noticed next commanded that

Oil spitting out a sump. Bitten ground yielding to a pump

Vampires seen abroad in broad day, wearing gimp stuff

Pigflown skies, flyblown thighs the price of sleeping outside.

You brandish my lust like a hind-bound brand above a bovine rump

Brandy and crushed candy that Wonderland’s strand’s excuse for sand

Banded like sandalbounds her method of canter and bound

The cathedral of her, I am Canterbury bound.

Her candour expands my world’s span

Beyond what my hands can trap.

I imagined her inured to my dull pleasure, a jaded satrap

Reduced to chaining to lampposts her household slaves

I imagined her softness, like fucking a jamjar

I imagine that she tastes like:

Cave light, Amontillado imbibed, barely surviving

Caramel, sadness, Saturn, shadows

Titanite and martlets.

Made better by the manner of its finding

How some blind or vase can find its way

From the perfect manor, whose windows, bayed

Offer a second-to-none view of a first-in-class bay

To my little home, a long way away.

The design, the refinement, her time tested way

The wine of her thighs incessantly preys

Inestimable cravings unstavable, my hands unstayable

Love as horse braying; the lord of rage a broken horse

Before her forceful glaive. Her fetlocks cascade

Like arrowhit hawks or a Howard Hughes engine failure

Incremental ways

She overtakes

Sacramental satiation

A passion play

Demanding to be lashed

At every station

I imagine that it’s late, bus station lashing rain

Some dark lane where stark lamed light plays

Her mouth agape failing to obey her gaze’s dictates

An empty vessel makes the most noise, they say

But I bet they didn’t stay long enough to ask a worthsalt sailor

Imagining us, in some tailored tomorrow

Me upon the cross kept by borrowed nails; 

You as Pilate handcleaner or as Christside thief;

As spice-minded Athena; of gossamer-rinded Proserpina;

As messiah, schemer, saving saint or in-league evil.

She struck me as some fever dream from the medieval

A piece from the time of fiefs and sieges

Firmaments, plagues and dragoned reaches

Her body had the fixity and firmness of a blacksmith’s handshake

Her hold on my heart was termless perhaps

I wish the turn of that fan eternal, alas our sojourn remains in journals

Yet the soul journeys unburdened

Florida no further than down a corridor

When a bodiless mind flies with wings borrowed

Toward a door her imploring burrowed

I explore her furrows with a thorough exactness

Sitting sipping, lapping her bath

Between lightning flashes

She collapses ravished

Alas, the wrong companion.

A lightbeing, moteish, modish, molded to smoulder

On verandas, in palaces, upon the shoulders of

Bond holders called Noel or Alastair

Yet she’s here with me, splitting canisters.

Her split peach varnishes bannisters

Unmanageable angers and languid passages vanish faster.

I wish to be at the bottom of the sea

Like the debris of galleons from so many valiant Spanish disasters

Gilded calves, laughable afters

I’m happiest after, your rapture roots your ravishing swoop to rafters

Ill-due a gaze dew-glazed and fabled

Quaking, sapien I before a statelier class of angel

Dog-visited cattery sounds

The sign-flapping wind exhibited that night

At its roof-mincing might

Even limiteds evinced its sponsor was some limitless divine.

Monsters, those of them that live in our time

And who are gaudy enough to be exposed

Are inevitably worse in the webbing of the mind

Than the closeness of throes, eyewhite to eyewhite

Every sense mine excited

Sentbydivine scentlines

Will guide my neon-heightened

Triumph’s nigh on silent march through Irish Zion.

Pirate-scion my corrupted blood a must-hunt lion.

Around the shadow-marched marshine back

Of a formidable Hawksmoor church Nazarene-lacking, bricked black

I rip an apple bong of sapping, pongy exhaust before heading back inside

I can lack a lot but I cannot lack ganj or drachma

Somewhere more suited to Dracula, stopping for a fussless zoot

At safe remove

Anyone who’d

Be enough fool to

Put a tip through

To a boy in blue.

Took a trip or two then tripped on the carpet reentering the room

Every eye on me like penguin playtime at the zoo, dripping in my suit

The drip was dripping, it was seeping through and the guests were sniffing

The air because the smell of cannabis was there. Drink needed, stiff

As an octogenarian typist’s wrist, or the oars of a rust-ruined skiff.

My disguise being famine child thin took nobody surprised. I surmise

At day’s heavy-eyed dying that, as a matter of fact

It drew more eyes to my drooping cheap glue blemishes than it dissuaded.

Unpersuadable, she; her chessgame patience and sage’s wit-caged rapier.

Her arrival easy to forecast as a snowglobe’s inclemencies.

Her smoke yellowed teeth spoke a bitter lemonsqueeze

I needed to hear in order to see.

Her Colt her code

Her stole beneath

A cuirass cold to cheek

One presses close in hopes that another would be pleased