Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
Reminding ever creature singing love it’s a must
Even as others sleep
Even as their voices weep she sings
Like a starling of her own sacrificial autumn blues.
She singing of the smiting wind imaging fiery irises
She’s imaged on her frozen breath suffuse.
She images their tongues black and gold
Crackling with a fire
A turf log hearth that trembles into flower
She’s imaged skating on their frozen lake
Half froze by a fire burning in the rinds of her bones..
And a man who takes out an egg shell white boat
Breaks the ice where he rows and never rives
His chest she’s told was like a riven chestnut case
Opening split into two, to the bone to be pressed to hers
Readily his spikiness is softening into the loam of hers.
And the song that takes up with their feathery lust
Is just for a short while here before us all
Where; our worlds collide, combust.
Reminding ever creature singing love it’s a must.
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