Each Man Has A Merlin's Staff Poem by Mark Heathcote

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!