Fairy-Time in Shadowland

A gasp from snow-white,
with pale idioms and might
from the fiddle fie faces
that took Hamlet’s oath
without any traces, IGNITES
a breath of life in my soul
as I see the desperate loath.

A blizzard in shadowland
covered up what’s planned
which my silhouette discovered
frozen in the starry night.

In every butchered nation
every lover’s conquered
in the fairy time of night.

I’m on a map of tiger tears
now and forever sheared
by a gigantic orb of light!

And on- and on- anon-
cutting me from the sight.

In the twenty-first of centuries-
full of pointless miseries-
we’re all, we’re full of fright
under the aegis of the night.

So the whole cob-world alone,
wearing a slumbering millstone,
goes topflight over the cuckoo nest
for experts feel this is best.

Comets cascade bottomward-
dead like halcyon- out of order
like the fall of Rome- unbordered
with a bulls-eye on a crown of thorns
on mice and men with horns.

In royal costumes, angels fall
over the top; wherewithal,
they’re authorized to persist
if written on a stranger’s list
below a stranger cosmos,
below deep phantoms
walking in their sleep,
below the castle 
the drowsy sweep
afloat in the air whilst
counting sheep.