A Pinholed Labyrinth

Lame sunrises and midday sunsets Fangs in words and perils in laughters Sweet archs of smiling fires and silky shouts in talking forests I come from the bitter of cobstones paved down the coalfield Broken lutes and snoring cork oaks Freckles of lipstick and suckles of martinis A bosom of pounds, a pavilion of dangling beryls and a breech of honeycombs I come from the lust of the chaste lass White moths and black mushrooms Coffins of treasures amid covens of night mayors Whispers of thunders and creaks of ant-steps I come from the stones in the chicken's gizzard Shards of fate and vials of morphine Ponds of rheum and fogs of cold incense A stew of scimitars, a brandise of stone and the heathenry of whitesmiths I come from the furs in the abattoir Sonnets in pools of ink and grace in quills of peacocks Sequels of black weresheep and bugles of lean shepards A wit of one accord and a grit of a myriad taut I come from furnace that boils the molten poetry soup