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 A Sherlockian Musing |
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| by Irie Wolfgang Aya |
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In every dream a beekeeper thought pursues
Yet gas lit night fancies are not alone
For full conscience Paget images still do woo
Close my eyes; embrace the Canon touchstone
In ascending proportion his beauty speaks
Each ink and chemical stain entwined in my heart
Each gray eye, the hawk-like nose, delicate scar on cheek
Are chiseled in my visceral galleries art
Escape from this lean iron Victorian form
Insanity, inanity, beguiling derision
Shattering genius in plenitude, festering storm
Stimulation for hours, blessed philosophical prison
Single muse of deduction with a divine contention
Elementary thoughts of Beeton given intoxication
Caught in Altamont’s bowed hell with no redemption
Or caught in Scarlet's welcomed supplication
Navel madness embraced is Partington madness won
Existence in Norbury absurdly veiled reality
Look about for desultory readers are here undone
Scions be in vestured from Irregular insanity
List the place of current Sussex address
Define my Sherlockian madness in knowledge based
Bind me with Brackenstall bonds to convalesce
But beg of you at 221B Baker Street be placed.
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