Dutifully dug the Devil’s ditches,
In a Clown’s cloak with witch’s stitches,
Bound with a burst of blood and a fleck of flesh,
Mournfully mazed in moon mesh.
Withered wings quiver and quicken,
Tethered and twisting in lunar linen,
With reason rendered wretch
Will stained stigmata stretch?
And a Shade’s shroud be shed,
from doomed and Damned and dead?
And Faerie fabric of Seelie Silk,
Be spun from molten milk,
Of combusting crown decompressed,
Alembicated Alizarin Alkahest?