Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
Clairvoyant landscapes moving yet frozen
Give me a paintbrush to define poetry
All movements of a riverbed reflected
Give me a pen inks flowing subjectively.
I'll show you a spotted salmon swam willingly
To climb out the furthest deepest, falls…
A poets like a woodlouse's gnawing
…Away at life, from inside-out…
What he builds places for the quivering air?
A bridge over the void of space…
Like a spider weaving her web to snare.
Poets tend to live in Blue-John mines
In some mystical crystal hermits cavern
Listening to the lapping of spring waters
They're like remote smokestacks lingering
On clairvoyant landscapes moving yet frozen.
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