Home > Poetry > The Alchemist: Stirring the Brew

The Alchemist: Stirring the Brew

By Jon Bourn

Editor of Jericho Rendezvous Blog
Stirring the Brew, a Dose of Vitamin D?

The house of the alchemist is like the manubrium, but as the mandala, its power tends to be natal, the old ecliptic signal remains.

Like a hankering discontent of a worm hole, the signal is made into the den for the lion, a priest among edified men.

The mind can create anything it wants, the choices of memory divide for the sleeping lion, warlocks to the magma, or clinging sandhi to the wind.

But the choices are many, numerous, even caduceus pulsating on their own, tic-toc tic-toc, scampering and reduviid for more.

Assembly brings a human right, independent of the den where the demon power flies as a magnet in the ash of a cloud, or the blastoderm modus vivendi.

As in event of a deepwater horizon, and the oil of hatred spilled, a harmony naught navigable, foreign as the cleaning of machine fodder.

In the panacea of working the metal, the mental rainbow of mensa, the soul is the sun not the spiritual rain, the maker of market in the field.

One cannot reign oneself for the hamadryad, her spirit must be free of the senses of heat, aid to the wormwood in the barrel of a gun.

A rank descent no one returns from, of the father, of the sun, and the circumspected ones where peace does not wither or run.

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