Alchemisland poetry

Effervescent tortures, ordure, orders, overtures, formerly cured.

Bored epicureans chew-jaded. New ancients. Plated. Blue jade.

Screaming until I’m blue faced.

Pen’s pace apes moon phases.

Tunnel boring, I’m devising new ways to cross ocean floors;

Brunel in the morning. Who can tell that you’re mourning?

The mask which fell, whose impelling spell hid your glory,

Shattered like a silence at telling’s pilum. Did your story

Commence or conclude when I implored you on June 9th to choose?

Dunelike, brooding knife. Stewing. Pints. Chores. Cheers. Scores. Nears

Endured searing years. A Dürer sealed in here.

Hitting triple six. She takes my wheel and steers with zeal

Affixing to rented fenders speed-tended, rear-ended deer.

Signs indicating that Alturas is near; left here.

We talked pleasantly into the leveret night. I slept here. She slept near.

Out like a light; the still of a mirrored mere when its horse eels dream.

To my death-crept, cage-suggestive chest, a lady pressed her ear.

Pressed against her rear. Her future tense test I against tensing fear.

Me? A soldier?

Fearful pate to sloping shoulder

To painful toetop

Tho’ no less fierce in daring, rushing over the top.

INRI the brief and garish slogan

Of my increasingly-flown banner

Glass beakers pregnant

With a recurrent leg-stealing mist sequence

My see-ers.

My sealed fear.

No, my dear

These days we don’t feed blazing grates paper.

It’s not cutwood’s heat but pressed delete keys

Bespoke by Coco

Coat collar exposed

Real blood kind people died mining

No rhinestones.

Light stowed

Owned home

Rococo, dual tones

Know my jeweller is getting promoted

Ruby chain with links for days, emerald molars

I eat green with my greens, I smoke weed and screed in its screen

Tapestries elaborate above the quad queen, four poster

Silk throws over, both molten in Molton Brown rabbit robes

Ghost hammering if she comes over

Key habits, ski’d nose, stolen relics, Roman mostly, others older

Dual phones if holding coco

Boasting stones

Stoking coners, casting money spells

Jealous yeomen opening doors, portals to Hell

Open up on the floor.

See-through floors, vertiginous chambers

Florida, only closer

New ways of self-promoting

Like floats coated with logos of the no-go businesses you own.

Florid and boastful toasts

I can only hold the wrong note

I can only fly when storm is close

Saratoga, neat gloss

Toe rings, cheap socks

Logos, sea moss

Togas, street boss

Phobos, Deimos

FOMO, teapots

Oh no, dream bought, drawn lots

Dawndrawn lawnspawned for Thoth

Steamboats, tossing back the free cokes

Hearts bard-carved, spark starved

Waiting impatient for starful starts

Wading creation for heart-pull arts.

My blazeous weed’s gaseously trapezing

Arm reaches rafters more graciously these efficacious evenings;

Your tree-seeding fingers spiff-gripping where it closest tapers.

Tell from how this hotel’s ell-measuring elms of casement-entering light

Caper around glyphs we drew upon our cliffs, carapace paper, last night:

A scarab ring glowing ringing phone in the cinema bright;

A ring from ancient Rome, made of noisome scorpion opal and anthracite.

Closeness atop tables. My deranged sabre lops at doorway strangers

Whether they be mailmen, Mormons, or thinly-disguised angels. Furze

And fern, I turn a perfect burnished cube for the entombed earning word.

Fumes skew my berg’s view. An unstilled quill’s silver effluvia creates you.

Term ends today. I won’t turn in, determinedly, although work is fairly due;

I am soon-quartered Chinese Gordon

With mandarin jacket, gore-wet sword

Impatient to avoid taint by glory’s oil

In a Mahdi-cordoned Sudan.

No more madding stalling orders. No more you can’t.

Slow, pleasant tortures. Fugues; fumes; blue plants.

Nude snaps. Two caps. Mute laughs.

Two that yet haven’t, haven’t yet.

Set inhabits my body. Amulet red;

Cherry eyes pigeon’s blood ruby like,

Roomy weed-rheumy sighters, looking twice

Rubbing my eyes wine like there’s dust inside.

I am touched inside. There’s something mine.

Wasted every second of my stubborn life prying apart pages

Book I’d rather fucking die before imbibing its ending stages.

Huffed, puffed, blew my house down so we could dance in the dust.

Don’t back down tasting unsating blood.

You’re not the type so bite down, fight

Back; bite; snap. Enough’s enough

Enough’s never enough. Ruffs. Roughly. Cuffs. Cups. Links. Scuffs. Cufflinks.

Riddle. Thought.

Little lot

Kitted, got

Purple dots

Persil, not. Eternal knot

Cursive, brought

To blood-bought life

My knifemind’s misbegottens.

Wordsmith. Softens.

Caught her, now life.

Acéphale’s neck cauterised.

Weekends tended throatwise

Goat, both thighs cum-striped

Nighttime finery in endless supply

Wick-leant liming light. A winey hellbulb’s strident fire.

Civic wrongs. In a rented Civic, monged. Hitting bongs. Hitting gongs.

If I want it now, the whole damn clock’s wrong.

Summoning wholecloth dragons out of something something bags

Something so new it still has tags, new car fumes. New Khartoums.

Her effusive cartouche maroons my once-diffuse wants:

Always an addictive admix tincture scans thin to its needled needer.

Tomorrow’s half fixity needily stalks what I am half picturing. Neither

Deceiver nor too-credulous believer be.

Levered threes. I cannot leave her be.

My weed is full of seeds and frog dyed.

Fox-slight frock-tight moon talks too tidily, leans into me

Orions chews me; occludes me; tunes the tuna’d tides. Choose me.

Festooned with marks like a Pariah;

Gospel according to Mark’s Messiah.

Fawkes’ night lights fissuring suspiciously when she sighs,

Gouting out her fountain mouth of mystery. She’s Irish.

Varmints, critters, wilds. Lost histories. Hot wintertimes.

White stones foam bright. Snow mode.

Flying light. She’s blue dyed, phone light.

Open holes. Low rise. Ozone. Open goals. Slow high.

She peels down. My note rises.

Feels my pealing soul, calms me down. Gown wound of eaten iris.

Ball games. We’re fucking rough as the wall game, Eton type.

Easeful. Peaceful. Painterly. Can’t please me enough type

Can’t get it roughly enough and I love that. Insufferable lust strikes

With the hour’s regularity. What I could do with an hour. What barbarity.

I have no time for whatever overposed rhymes

These other overblown dime Christs are parroting.

Dangerous downward spiral relents, rebounds. The weight I am carrying

She takes. With flame-stabled lancet she scrapes away my carrion;

A decade of harrying, of constant parrying. Now my hair is being braided

My brain is being invaded by waves of feelings of greater safety. Satiety.

Spiralbound notebook redounds to her tortoise love’s alluvial topsoil.

The hero, his foil. In royal hues a month’s toil. Oil boiling fumes. Stop Boy

Becomes Go Boy. Turtle doves hurtling profusely

Towards a purple oven-sun, diffuse as effusive.

Loosening such that made useless my rusted armour; all my harm rumour.

Elucidated by her hallucinatory charm, the jarred snake she makes me;

I was illuminated by her puce moon’s humour. My chains are removed

And just in time because I’ve seen the signs and Ragnarök is due.

No more to thwarted. No more falling on swords. It’s all for you.

Unzipped and all warted. One lick I’m sporting a snooker cue

Again. When we talk it’s like scoring,

Again. What they make of men;

What men make of them and say to them:

Menhirs, pagans, Amon Hen. Amen, again.

Floating over

Opal oceans

Butterfly frozen

My eyes confined.

Upwardly mobile. Fill my throat-dyeing cup up to the lip, and sup.

Kiss her bitter lustral gift in no time.

She is that gifted, well-equipped, lilting, and lifting prose style.

My disjointed, hiss-greeting soul is beneath the Nile imprisoned.

Rope forgives my sins. Hope schisms. Anointed, I am Chrism’d.

Bowties. Slowed time. Motile. Appointments. Low style. Both smiles.

Saying it’s wild. Hope it’s only my nice dope acting as it should but

Thought I spied a supernatural light shuffling in my eye’s peripheral just

Now. Is something afoot?

Ripper blunt, finally packed in too much classflunker’s bud.

I am not the captain. Bull run.

My blood uncapped bolts like sliding mud

Over a bus full of unlucky tourists visiting South America to taste a sun;

Glum saying but trip’s a bust; RIP but that’s a one on TripAdvisor, son.

In all the frightening fighting, my heightened visor slips down

A host of krakens accosted the waymaking boat of my mind

As during some long prophesied flood’s due prologue.

Its crew, unsavable host, tossed to-fro, go graveless unto ghostude;

Lapse screaming like a cat unkeen’s kittens into brine’s indifferent sack.

Unclothed revelation came close whilst sleep conveyed

To deeper layers the fate-steeped meanings of my wasted day.

Smoten who deigned behold

Wotan’s faith. Fiercer, woad-painted days,

A religion so jagged and backward,

So shorn of commendable aspect,

Even the Romans tireless of slaughter

Did not order rendered to dusty surrenderment

Their already-barren domain. Lusting 

Little that grew above their crude border,

And less of what the gelid isle alongside

Was hiding besides boredom. More

Giant elks statured many ells

Hulks astride an Earth still primal;

Primate in that unroman climate.

A goddess strange and nameless

Score-keeping Norn

Whose knit-formed

Yonder scorned me.

Daunder, she adoringly implored me.

Saunter! Haunting a horned me; a sword me, whose glee deforms gorily.

Any price, life for diamonds

One cannot afford not to be able to afford glory. A bored, thornsat life.

Splitting’s wrong; dishonest when you want it all. Be honest, be a tonic.

God-stowing alcove, seared onyx lined.

I’ll dispose of a thousand iconic lines

To bring my rhyme closer to the lion.

I see her in close-up

Coldly reposed, wholly undocile

Out tonight, doing 3s and 5s on 65i

Stick it in my eye, hoping to die

An oath is iron, talk you die.

The oak is more sacred bound in your intestines.

My gifts too parcel taped.

A terse, karst sparsity.

Napoleon complex. Also ran. Could have gone varsity. Didn’t, damn

Could have gone far if I didn’t damn

Myself. Didn’t, damn. Couldn’t deny myself. Fuck half.

Knifing myself nightful. The eyes on my shelf drank half my ichor.

Drunk half my life. Rest spent in fent-like bathtub hypersleep. Sunk, sad.

All of my patterns I can trace to Saturn, all the way back to Adam.

Salt used to circlepaint upon the pavement; upon car-ate tar;

Upon sole-sparred Temple Bar cobbles; upon tarmacadam.

Madame, I’m mad. Capable of taking disastrous facefuls

Of doses fatal to faithfuls without tugging my staples.

Thugging my pain

I’m struggling with a drugged up brain.

My mind’s a bucket ocean, I dare you to push it over.

When you’re in love, it can be look started

Silk surplus curtains back peeled, parting. Looks darting.

Revealing a jewelled stag and a diamond-mouthed pine marten.

Horned me. Dark, darkest and stormy

Inside the door, a worm-eaten portal.

Vermeer this sky, a fatal bride. Neither safety nor bridle. Nothing confided

By that unbright Titan’s silent malachite marbling. Vorpal. The abnormal.

The floor warped, heel-scored. Scorched chequerboard.

Gorse. Redder sword. Nothing former about my forming glories.

Nothing normal about my stories, yet on she implores me; explores me.

Courts me, escorts me. Two jewel addicts, fuelling our madding antics

Dual; Janus. Antlered. Lathered madness.

Imperial planets, set dancing by a hand of gladness

Fantasy maps, gaunt-pranced castle battlements

Dawn’s pranking dazzlement

Dorian Gray’s visage collapsing on bleak, streaked once-handsome canvas

A weeping strand. Lesions bleeding

Allegiance weaning.

Waning the aching mage-scanned pages of the moon’s face

Hanged upon nothingness to amaze man to reverie. Maize-spanned

The gigantic palace and its surrounding lands.

Cool to touch, my hands upon a bust

Of Pallas raven-abutted.

Lust’s ne’er-full chalice. A hulking thing seeks balance, ballast.

The heir apparent of tale and ballad.

The hegemony is fatally challenged.

Love entrusts. A slumped’s blood crusts. Encrusted

Russet gusset. Relics, Etruscan

Stunting on my terms

Hulking, my good ferns

Honking without burn

Cook or learn. Stolen verve. My switch gallop-spurning

Lockets gold as witches burning

Doctor stocks so wait your turn

Topless stockings. Stopless rocking. When she finally turns

Up Irish, she’s getting turned out unquietly, violently;

Earn the rest with your mouth, girl.

Inhale the pilum like the bottom’s dyed with the cure for dying

Diamond diet, she needs a triumphal march of martian lights

Partial, spice, martial times

Minarets Tatar-climbed. A cigarette-addicted muezzin wilds

All this gluey resin has my fingers dyed

Acrid fumes in Hagrid portion got me ketchup eyed

Do it like its your duty, get that last six dialed.

She has that medieval style, an etched look.

Stabbing her edgeless box with my senseless docking glaive

All I need is her face. An eye’s grace.

A stocking’s swathing had me caving, came.

She’s a caiman and I know that bite could maim

If she felt less saintly towards my paint

She likes to look. Like her to suck mine before we fuck. Suck my

Cockcrow first light commences despised 9-5 slogs for most, but not I

My bided days spent laughing

Those whom doleful time spites, endless prime

Formosa at night, neon-clothed the cross lights

Up the night. Moon sending rhymes.

My runes form odes. Storm oaths.

Loaded bowls, ready to go

Foremost at forming poems

Four ghosts. At most, forty votives.

Touring stones in Turing’s old motor

Close as clones, our shade and total souls

Loud as her divinatorily cast cow bones

Zonked out, chronic reefer I’m chiefing it and not briefly.

Bringing in flock-trod sheafs, purple wolf among the sheep.

The shocked few weep, nights sleepless and dark's brief;

Shock troops put paid to any vain hope of reprieve.

She is my vein dope; my amazing steed

To help me cross the Rainbrow Bridge Bifrost.

Night raids nightly out east.