Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
Each Man Has A Merlin's Staff
Each man has a Merlin's staff
a mercury thermometers blood
that stretches out like a giraffe
that he saver with a belly laugh.
Its magic plumes out; and refills
an empty waiting alabaster bath.
From the stone comes a liquid-
water; and there on without frills...
Water then mingles into a new life
there on it forms a silken membrane!
All cells expand and stick too
pairing from my very own paring knife.
Oh a man has a Merlin's staff
my good wife, with silk web linen's
that'll take in the heavens graph
and grind your bones into bread...
Oh a man has Merlin's magic wand
turning summers vine into blood...
Here in this grotto he can’t abscond...
The reflection of his own disgrace
in that other reflecting, godly, face!
Comments about this poem (Each Man Has A Merlin's Staff by Mark Heathcote )
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